THE 
 DAUGHTER, OF 
 
 A. R, E/ B E L ; ; ;< ui 
 
 5 ->- -fli 
 
 G. VERB 
 TVLBR^
 
 l~
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 OF A REBEL 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 G. VERB TYLER 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DUFFIELD & COMPANY 
 1913
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1913 
 BY DUFFIELD & COMPANY
 
 TO 
 
 MY MOTHER 
 
 THE SWEETEST VIRGINIAN 
 OF THEM ALL 
 
 2138502
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK 1 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I THE GIRL I 
 
 II REBELLION 6 
 
 III OPPOSITION ii 
 
 IV VANISHING HOMESTEADS 24 
 
 V DREAMS UNVEILED 27 
 
 VI THE LOVER'S APPEAL 33 
 
 VII A PRODUCT OF WAR 39 
 
 VIII THE MOTHER 46 
 
 IX THE GRIM VISITOR 56 
 
 X THE MASTER IN THE HOUSE 59 
 
 XI CONFLICTING EMOTIONS 63 
 
 XII NEGRO HEROISM 68 
 
 XIII THE HISTORIC JAMES 80 
 
 XIV DISINTEGRATION 85 
 
 XV THE BATTLE 88 
 
 XVI THE FLOWER GIRL 101 
 
 XVII THE CURB BIT 107 
 
 XVIII RESTING ON CONVENTIONS 113 
 
 XIX A LIFE AT STAKE 119 
 
 XX THE FREEDMAN'S INHERITANCE 124 
 
 XXI LYNCH LAW 131 
 
 XXII HANDS ON THE BIBLE 135 
 
 XXIII A SACRIFICE REVEALED 138 
 
 XXIV STRUGGLES IN NEW CONDITIONS 142 
 
 XXV A MOCK CEREMONY 148 
 
 XXVI DESPERATE CHIVALRY 152
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTEB PAGE 
 
 XXVII THE LIGHTNING STRIKES 162 
 
 XXVIII BEYOND His TENSION 167 
 
 XXIX VISIONS OF THE OLD AND NEW 174 
 
 BOOK II 
 
 I A NIGHT ON WHEELS 187 
 
 II THE LOST SHEEP 193 
 
 III DANGERS OF FREEDOM 198 
 
 IV THE SKY-LIGHT ROOM 203 
 
 V BOARDING HOUSE LIFE 209 
 
 VI WET BLANKETS 216 
 
 VII THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR 225 
 
 VIII THE SOUTHERN ONLOOKER 232 
 
 IX SENTENCED TO CHAINS 236 
 
 X A SILENT PROTECTOR 244 
 
 XI THE COLONEL 246 
 
 XII FAILURE 252 
 
 XIII HALLUCINATIONS 256 
 
 XIV THE PLEA 264 
 
 XV THE HELPING HAND 266 
 
 XVI THE DREAM REALIZED 272 
 
 XVII A CLASHING OF WILLS 277 
 
 XVIII TEMPTATION 285 
 
 BOOK III 
 
 I VICTORY PROCLAIMED 297 
 
 II SILENT REMINDERS 303 
 
 III INTO THE FOLD 311 
 
 IV LOVE 319
 
 BOOK I
 
 The Daughter of a Rebel 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE GIRL 
 
 ON the third day of April in the year 1886, a girl 
 was seated at an old rickety table in her bare little 
 room, writing. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes 
 were bright. It was evident that she was much in 
 earnest. 
 
 The room was on the top floor of a small brick 
 house, and there were no comforts in it. The single 
 bed was hard and uninviting. The door of the wash- 
 stand was broken, as was also the spout of the pitcher. 
 There were dull-red, well-worn shades over the win- 
 dows, but no curtains. Save a narrow strip by the side 
 of the bed, the floor was carpetless. The mirror, that 
 reflected the girl as she sat writing, was blurred and 
 cracked. A Bible, an old album, and a vase con- 
 taining some pampas-grass, on another table, were the 
 only ornaments of the room. There was a small 
 rocker with an improvised seat of the selvages of flan- 
 nel, the original one having long since worn away. 
 A cheap clock ticked loudly in the center of a tall, 
 black-painted mantel-piece. The occupant was oblivi- 
 ous to her surroundings. 
 
 Page Warwick was a product of the Civil War. 
 Born when Virginia had scarcely caught her breath 
 from flash of gun and roar of cannon, she seemed one 
 of their sparks that would not expire. 
 
 A child of rare emotional nature, possessed of highly
 
 2 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 imaginative perceptions, she had fed upon tales of war, 
 its horror and despair, until these things and all they 
 suggested had become a part of her. 
 
 She had sat on the knees of ex-soldiers and listened ; 
 she had sat at the feet of her Mammy and listened ; she 
 had sat in the pews of the churches and listened; 
 she had sat at the firesides or on the porches of devas- 
 tated homes and listened. When she grew 1 older she 
 visited the places formerly used as hospitals for the 
 wounded and dying. She went to the graves of sol- 
 diers, in the soldiers' burying ground, and there with 
 the little wooden headpieces staring at her in straight 
 lines, lived over the tragic death of each one, as she 
 read the name, and when she came to one who was 
 nameless, she would feel her heart break. 
 
 She was distinctly a product of the Civil War. To 
 her it represented a tragedy such as had never been 
 enacted upon the earth. She saw no glory in it. The 
 picture was grewsome, hideous, with monuments of 
 despair on its pallid surface. All the music was fu- 
 neral drums. All the participants, martyrs. At night 
 when she would close her eyes to sleep they marched 
 single file before her, weary and blood-stained, or she 
 saw them en masse on the fields beneath the burning 
 sun or the cold moon, and sometimes she cried out. 
 When slavery was spoken of as a crime she thought 
 of this crime, and a half mad laugh would break from 
 her. When anyone spoke of the war being over, she 
 sneered and told of the wounded in heart who still 
 lived, of the half dead and alive victims as much a part 
 of it as the grave is of death. 
 
 She felt so intensely that she had never stopped to 
 think or attempt to reason. The impressions of her 
 childhood still controlled her. The name of Grant was
 
 THE GIRL 3 
 
 associated in her mind with bloodshed. " Beast " But- 
 ler was to her a beast indeed, and she never thought of 
 him, except as she had seen him cartooned with horns. 
 All this was real and vital to her, and the fears of her 
 childhood continued to dominate her. " The Yankees 
 are coming " recalled to her the absolutely docile and 
 horror-struck obedience that the sentence filled her 
 with, when Mammy wanted to " scare " her to bed or 
 good behavior. 
 
 The house in which dwelt this imaginative emotional 
 young girl was the very poorest of her late father's 
 possessions. It was situated in an obscure street. It 
 had always been occupied by poor people. Sometimes 
 they paid rent, sometimes they didn't. Her father 
 never thought much about it. It was unimportant to 
 him; it was home to her. The rent was paid now, 
 it had to be because the pitiful sum was her only means 
 of support. The people she rented it to got it cheaper 
 by allowing her to keep a room on the top floor. She 
 tried eating with them as another mutual benefit, but 
 there were five children, molasses at every meal, and 
 the man ate in his shirt sleeves. It embarrassed them 
 and it was impossible to her. 
 
 It was her tenant, Mrs. Bartlett herself, who had ar- 
 ranged for her meals across the street with an old lady, 
 a Mrs. Stebbins, who took boarders. Mrs. Bartlett, 
 a young thing of twenty-seven, with five children and 
 bowed down by poverty like the rest, did this out of 
 kindness. She was always kind to Page. She never 
 failed to tell her to call on her if she was ever sick. 
 Page often wondered how often Mrs. Bartlett had 
 told her this. But she was never sick, she was always 
 well, and good, as she sometimes said disconsolately, 
 for a long life. Yes, Mrs. Bartlett was very good,
 
 4 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 goodness breathed forth from her whole hard-worked 
 little body. 
 
 Page wiped the tears from her eyes and fell to think- 
 ing of her. How strange it all was. She thought of 
 the house, the stiff, little parlor with a chair or two; 
 the etagere, the antiquated piano, the red plush album, 
 and herself up there above it all. As she thought, a 
 child's voice came up to her in a whining wail. It 
 was Sadie May's voice. Sadie May, the only girl and 
 the youngest child, was the idol of the house. She was 
 not a pretty child, and she looked stupid, like a little 
 doll dressed up, but much of the means of the family 
 were expended upon Sadie May, and the mother told 
 Page one day that if that child were to die it would be 
 her death as sure as there was a God in heaven. Page 
 knew that she meant it. 
 
 At times this home with Sadie May and all the rest 
 sickened her, and she would put on her hat and walk 
 by an old house, the real home, where they all lived 
 in the days before she was born, and gave dinners and 
 balls and parties and danced all night, and were happy. 
 It seemed to Page, when she heard those days recalled, 
 that there never could have been such happiness any- 
 where in all the world since it was created. It was 
 turned, the grand old house, into a hospital now; it 
 had met a fate equal to that of the descendants of those 
 who had lived in it, and yet she loved to go there and 
 look at it ; the sad staring windows seemed to gaze at 
 her with pathetic recognition. There was a rose-bush 
 in the yard that her grandmother had planted with 
 her own hands. The matron always sent her a bunch 
 of the first blooms. Her father's name was cut in 
 one of the pillars of the porch. He had played on that 
 porch when he was a little boy. Page had never played
 
 THE GIRL 5 
 
 there it was gone, gone away from them before she 
 could remember. She had never known it except as a 
 hospital, but she went there very, very often. She 
 loved to see it when the flowers were blooming, or 
 when the moon was shedding its silver light upon it 
 tenderly, lovingly, just as it used to. Sometimes she 
 thought she could see her grandmother standing by 
 the old rose-bush guarding it, and she really believed 
 if it were cut down for some practical purpose, a 
 thunderbolt from heaven would be directed to the 
 spot.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 REBELLION 
 
 ON this particular morning, this third day of April, 
 1886, she was particularly depressed. The pitiful sum 
 due weekly for her meals, which she took across the 
 way, had not been paid, and she had eaten little. She 
 was half hungry. Her thoughts were tragic, her mood 
 savage, yet gentle, and she was filled with exaggerated 
 self-pity and pity for those like her. 
 
 In these moods she always wrote, dipping the pen in 
 her own heart's blood, believing in a self-imposed duty 
 to express vital facts that every one should know about. 
 Through blinding tears that dripped upon the paper 
 in front of her, she continued to pour her passionate 
 thoughts, occasionally giving vent to a sob, occasion- 
 ally repressing one, the words flowing from her pen, 
 even as the tears flowed from her eyes. 
 
 Two years before she had written a little story that 
 included a description of a negro river-baptizing, and 
 it had been accepted for publication by a first-class 
 magazine. 
 
 The acceptance had been accompanied by a flattering 
 letter from the editor requesting her to submit other 
 contributions. 
 
 This incident had revolutionized her entire existence. 
 Her joy converted her into a creature with a brain on 
 fire and a pen always in her hand. From that day she 
 wrote without ceasing. She wrote of everything, the 
 war, before the war, after the war, the soldiers, her 
 
 6
 
 REBELLION 7 
 
 relatives, her friends, the negroes and of inanimate 
 things as well. When her only pair of shoes wore out, 
 she wrote their history and pressed her lips to them 
 that they had served her for inspiration. She flashed 
 her brain upon common objects, converting everything 
 she saw into a wonder for her pen to describe. And 
 every single thing, after the first story that she wrote, 
 came back to her. 
 
 The effect upon her of continuous effort and con- 
 tinuous disappointment was at times maddening. She 
 grew sensitive and concealed the fact that she was 
 continuing to write, but she never ceased. She watched 
 for the postman, met him at the door, and when he 
 handed her the rejected manuscript, she would turn 
 giddy and reach her room in a half-conscious condi- 
 tion. Every time this occurred it caused her momen- 
 tary loss of courage and self-confidence. 
 
 Then it was that she would lock herself in her room, 
 open her trunk, take out her one printed story, with 
 the acceptance slip pinned to it, read both over again 
 to convince herself that her effort was not a mad 
 dream. 
 
 Not once did this little experience fail to kindle 
 within her a new excitement and renewed determina- 
 tion ; not once did it fail to repeat its message that she 
 could become an author. Did not the printed words 
 and the letter from the editor prove it? She would 
 take out the editor's letter, that was safely stored away 
 in a little pearl box that had belonged to her mother, 
 and read it the words she knew by heart all over 
 again. 
 
 Finally she laid down her pen, raised her head half 
 defiantly and faced herself in the old cracked mirror 
 opposite.
 
 8 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 The vision that met her gaze arrested her attention 
 and diverted it from her theme to herself. She cen- 
 tered upon the reflection, suddenly fascinated by her 
 own charms. She saw, as through a mist, a fair girl 
 with a lovely patrician face crowned in pale chestnut, 
 gold-tinted hair, beneath which glowed, sullen and ex- 
 cited, a pair of exquisitely expressive gray eyes. She 
 saw a beautiful mouth, slightly compressed, and she 
 knew that behind the crimson lips were two rows of 
 even white teeth firmly set. Beneath the compressed 
 and firmly set teeth she deliberately noted the sensitive 
 chin, tremulous, yet determined, and the full passionate 
 throat, around which was a faded ribbon that had 
 been washed, and beneath that a calico waist, also 
 faded. Her face paled and a half-bitter smile parted 
 the sullen mouth. 
 
 " That is I," she said aloud, " that poverty-stricken 
 creature is I, Page Warwick ! " 
 
 Suddenly there came to her, like an unexpected 
 flash of lightning in a clear sky, a thought that struck 
 and startled her. This thought had long hovered 
 about her brain, but had never dared enter it before. 
 It frightened her. If she could go away, free herself 
 of old conditions, be where she would not be dominated 
 by the opinions of others, where she could think more 
 freely, unhampered by the vigilant surveillance of her 
 elders and all the conventions that made up their and 
 her life, she could become an author in reality and in- 
 dependent. 
 
 It was a very bold thought, her teaching having been 
 that of any kind of independent existence on the part 
 of woman, any effort except attention to her household 
 duties was " unladylike." 
 
 She was a child of the old South that demanded of
 
 REBELLION 9 
 
 its women acquiescence in and obedience to ordained 
 laws, no matter what they were. Action was for men, 
 not women. She tried to think of one woman who 
 had rebelled against conditions and taken an independ- 
 ent step and she could not recall one. Yet, the 
 thought had occurred to her, not only had it occurred, 
 but it was taking possession of her. She tried to ef- 
 face it by pushing back her hair and standing up. It 
 remained and she took her seat again but with a feel- 
 ing of helplessness. She was bound hand and foot, 
 and she knew it, a slave to the ideas of others ; and to 
 all that had been established by her forefathers since 
 Virginia had its birth. Two conflicting elements be- 
 gan to contend in her, pulling her different ways like 
 wild horses. As this thought of change of break- 
 ing way, pressed closer to her heart, her brain refused 
 it, shrieking at her old thoughts, old laws. She saw 
 this fierce battle and her excitement increased, till her 
 flushed face paled. Her heart fiercely demanding 
 change, at terrific odds with the dictates of her brain, 
 was not yet sufficiently liberated to join in her 
 rebellion. And she knew that her heart must fight its 
 battle with terrific odds against her while her brain 
 would daily be reinforced by an army that was legion. 
 Her sympathies went out to her heart and she almost 
 swore aloud allegiance to it, but was again attacked 
 by fright. 
 
 She looked about her, terrified at familiar inanimate 
 objects that might have detected her impulse in the 
 corners, under the bed, and through the open door, 
 for imaginary eyes and ears that might be upon her, 
 and all the while the desire was taking a fixed form. 
 She tried to fight it again and held her hands hard 
 pressed to the sides of her chair to keep herself steady,
 
 io THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 but she knew that she had not succeeded did not 
 want to succeed. 
 
 At last there came over her a sense of guilt ; it was 
 the same feeling that takes possession of the soldier 
 in battle when, overcome by the horrors of the situa- 
 tion, he contemplates becoming a deserter.
 
 CHAPTER III . < 
 
 OPPOSITION 
 
 SUDDENLY Page remembered that it was Wednes- 
 day. 
 
 Every Wednesday, rain or shine, a visit of respect 
 was paid to her Aunt Constance. Together they 
 looked over her bureau drawers, straightened them out, 
 and then sat together chatting. 
 
 Page loved her Aunt Constance with a deep and 
 abiding love. She had been a second mother to her, 
 but the laws of their existence and the regularity with 
 which they were enforced, wore upon her. For the 
 first time, however, she dreaded this visit. How to 
 confess to Aunt Constance how to leave Aunt Con- 
 stance! These two thoughts confronted her like pis- 
 tols leveled at her. 
 
 She knew that she was the light of her aunt's life, 
 the one bright light that had atoned for a lonely, 
 blighted existence. 
 
 She found her seated by the window, with hen 
 spectacles on, trying to make a wrapper out of an old 
 India shawl. 
 
 The room, unlike Page's, was large and deep, and, 
 as she did light housekeeping light indeed it was 
 a tall screen hid the washstand and little kitchen ar- 
 rangements. The family portraits, that she had clung 
 to through thick and thin, lined the high walls, and 
 some of them were very beautiful. Here she sat day 
 
 n
 
 12 
 
 after day thinking of the past and communing with the 
 dead and gone. Her bed and bureau and wardrobe 
 were preserved, too, out of the wreck of her home, and 
 as though God willed it so, this distinguished lady had 
 a distinguished environment. 
 
 Imperiousness and reserve were as natural to her as 
 though some secret authority had been bestowed upon 
 her at birth. No matter what her circumstances were, 
 and they had been lowly and trying, it was as impos- 
 sible for her to appear ordinary as for the lightning- 
 stripped oak to appear weak. As a child, Page had 
 stood in awe of this lovely, dignified aunt, but all that 
 had now passed away and between the two was perfect 
 sympathy and understanding. 
 
 At present, Aunt Constance was doing the darning 
 and mending for a family of eight in exchange for her 
 room and for her breakfast, the only regular meal she 
 had, she washed the tea things. She was a pathetic 
 figure, this impoverished maiden lady, who had suf- 
 fered in proud silence every day since the war. It 
 was not the suffering, but the courage that made her 
 pathetic. She was but one of many. It was hard on 
 the younger ones like Page, who had to sit by and see 
 such as she, their old darlings, in want ; see them with- 
 out proper clothing, without proper food, and with 
 none of the little elegancies their hearts craved. 
 
 " Page," she said, when they had had a cup of tea 
 and some crackers, and the two, neither very skillfully, 
 were at work on the old wrapper, " is what I have 
 heard true? " 
 
 " What is that, Aunt Constance ? " 
 
 " That you are still shutting yourself up in your 
 room writing? " 
 
 " It is true, Aunt Constance ! "
 
 OPPOSITION 13 
 
 " What are you writing about, my darling ? " 
 
 " I'm writing a tragedy, Aunt Constance I'm 
 writing a novel of the war ! " 
 
 Aunt Constance's gentle face clouded a moment. 
 " The war, Page," she said, " the real war will never 
 get into the books. Mortal pen could never handle it, 
 and you, what do you know about the war, my dear! 
 You weren't born until the war was over ! " 
 
 " I know the results of it," said Page gravely. " I 
 know what I see to-day ! " 
 
 " My dear," she exclaimed, " thank God the war is 
 over; let its horrors be buried." 
 
 " Aunt Constance," Page cried, " the war isn't over, 
 only a part of it is over. I know the battles are all 
 over, that those horrors are of the past ; that the blood 
 of our gallant brave, our darling soldiers, that soaked 
 the earth, has dried ; that the dying groans and shrieks 
 that rent the air, are silenced; that the sun no longer 
 blazes upon the faces of the dead, and that the snow 
 no longer falls and covers them! Yes, those horrors 
 of war are over! But there is another horror, an- 
 other battlefield, where white- faced soul-and-body- 
 starved survivors eke out a living death ! Aunt Con- 
 stance," she burst forth, " how can you say the war is 
 over? Is it over for you and me, and those like us, 
 who hardly have bread to eat is it over for Miss 
 Mildred Brockenborough, that sweet, timid, sensitive 
 old lady, who sits trembling at one corner of the table, 
 dependent for her bread on the daughter of a former 
 seamstress in her father's home, and who doesn't wear 
 a piece of clothing that isn't given out of charity? Is 
 it over for those of us who are selling ourselves as 
 wives to our inferiors ? Is it over for those delicate, 
 fragile girls who go out to work and are no more
 
 14 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 fitted for labor than canary birds ? Is it over for them 
 when their backs ache, and their tears flow, and when 
 they choose obscure streets to walk in to avoid meet- 
 ing their acquaintances, and when every breath they 
 draw is a breath of shame? Is it over for Mamie 
 Allison, working in a box factory? No! We are in 
 the midst of war war that is waged upon our souls 
 as well as bodies ! " 
 
 " Page," returned her aunt excitedly, " I am really 
 alarmed about you ! You are letting your imagination 
 run away with you! Our circumstances are pitiable 
 enough, I know, but don't, my dear child, paint the 
 picture worse than it is ! " 
 
 " The picture can't be worse than it is ! " cried Page, 
 " and what is going to become of us ? What is going 
 to become of me ? Am I to sell in a store like Judith 
 Harrison and fall off to a skeleton in six weeks and be 
 discharged for hiding from customers rather than 
 selling them? Am I going to be a governess at the 
 beck and call of parvenus, whose past inferiority will 
 revenge itself through me? Am I going on the stage 
 like little Molly Lou Carter and be stared at by a lot 
 of vulgar men ? It killed her. It might drive me mad 
 or I might kill someone. Am I going to keep a 
 boarding-house, I, who wouldn't know how to run my 
 own home unless Mammy came to live with me! " 
 
 " Page ! " exclaimed Aunt Constance in alarm, " you 
 exaggerate terribly ! You have a roof over your head 
 and enough to eat. Try to have more faith, my child. 
 You mustn't allow yourself to dwell on those things at 
 all!" 
 
 " I must dwell on them, Aunt Constance, for I mean 
 to tell the wprld about them ! " Tears sprang to the 
 luminous, excited eyes. " I have a wonderful picture
 
 OPPOSITION 15 
 
 to present to the world! There will be many tears 
 shed over what I shall tell, and men and women will 
 scoff and sneer and condemn and disbelieve, but they 
 will not forget what I have told them. The charac- 
 ters, many of them, will stand up before them pale and 
 grewsome, but their eyes will burn into their callous 
 souls! I know of whom I am going to write; they 
 are marching single file this moment before my eyes! 
 I think I should write of these things ! I think every 
 one of us should record his or her impressions of our 
 vanishing South! We who can only form letters 
 should write; those of us who can paint should paint, 
 even though the results be but daubs or shadows of 
 the picture; embroiderers should learn to embroider 
 scenes that will go down to the future; the wood- 
 carver should make images on whatever work he does ! 
 For my part, I want to write about us women! The 
 broken-down, heart-broken mothers, the old young 
 women, the sweet, sweet, maiden ladies, purer than 
 angels, the young girls, all poor, helpless, despairing 
 some patient, some impatient, we the robbed and the 
 bereft, in a condition ruthlessly imposed, a condition 
 the horrors of which have never been revealed. I am 
 mad to tell of these things. If I only told of you, 
 don't you think people would want to hear! Suppose 
 I told of your efforts since the war to help your sweet 
 self, those efforts that are more pitiful than your 
 failures ! Suppose I told how you taught little chil- 
 dren, kept house for the " poor white trash," who 
 treated you as a servant; how you sewed and em- 
 broidered and made pickles, and of what you are do- 
 ing now ! " 
 
 The girl's splendid eyes filled with tears. " There 
 are others like you, Aunt Constance, whose lives are
 
 16 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 poems, that if told should uplift the world and teach 
 of courage ! I want to tell these things I must ! I 
 feel impelled to ; I want everybody to know about us 
 we the living victims of war! We are history 
 everything about us is history ! You are history, this 
 old shawl," Page lifted it tragically in her hands, " is 
 history, and I must write this history, Aunt Constance 
 I've got to ! There seems to me something super- 
 latively grand and sublimely touching in it all ! " 
 
 She paused while a shudder that she controlled 
 quickly passed over her. 
 
 " I want, also," she burst forth again, " to write 
 about our poor colored people. Our dear old servants, 
 helpless as children, dragging wearily along a hopeless 
 road to the door of shame and despair. I read in the 
 papers the other day of an old colored woman who fell 
 down outside the gate of a poor-house and shrieked and 
 screamed, and bit at the people who tried to make her 
 enter it. She went mad for the moment. To-day, 
 I read that she is very docile, just sits there rocking 
 her body and crooning. I want to tell about her 
 how / see her ! " 
 
 " Page, if you were to, you would only be called a 
 sensational Southerner." 
 
 " I am a sensational Southerner ! " exclaimed Page. 
 " Oh ! Aunt Constance, you don't know how my brain 
 burns with these things ! You don't know the visions 
 I have that I could put into words! If only I could 
 be away from the old conditions that not only oppress 
 but hold me down, if I could go away, be separated 
 f rom _" 
 
 "Page!" 
 
 Aunt Constance's voice was a gasp and her face 
 paled.
 
 OPPOSITION 17 
 
 " Well," echoed Page, breathlessly. 
 
 " You mean that you want to go away leave 
 Richmond?" 
 
 "I do!" She put up her hands. "Oh! Please 
 don't, Aunt Constance ! don't let that look come into 
 your face! I can't bear the idea of giving you pain, 
 but I do want to go away. I want to be alone and find 
 out about myself and what I can do! I may as well 
 tell you," she continued recklessly, " that I'm thinking 
 of selling my little house the real estate men have 
 been trying to get me to sell for months. They want 
 to put up a row of tenements and I want to go 
 where I can hide away and work until I accomplish 
 my purpose of becoming an author! " 
 
 Aunt Constance's face was death-like. 
 
 " Page ! " she half shrieked, " do you know what you 
 are saying ! You, a Page, a Warwick, my niece, think- 
 ing for one moment of putting your feet in the North ! 
 Why I would remain in Virginia if it meant starva- 
 tion, if the land was a smoldering fire and the rivers 
 had all dried up ! I'm ashamed of you ! " 
 
 " Aunt Constance," began Page awkwardly. 
 
 "My child, what did your father do? What did 
 they all do when not alone starvation stared them in 
 the face, but rifle balls were flying at them like hail? 
 They stood their ground, their Virginia ground! 
 Think of them! Think of Benny, my poor brother, 
 shot to pieces and dragging that flag up the hill and 
 then falling dead beside it ! And we, we women, we 
 who inspired them and urged them on to their death, 
 are we going to falter and faint by the wayside?" 
 
 For a moment, Page gazed into the pallid horror- 
 struck countenance, then she sprang forward and put 
 her arms passionately around the fragile form.
 
 i8 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 " Forgive me, Aunt Constance, please forgive me! " 
 she cried, and broke into tears. 
 
 " Why, my child," Aunt Constance exclaimed, all 
 tenderness now, as she embraced her, " we have to bear 
 what the good Lord has seen fit to put on us to bear. 
 Would you be a traitor a traitor to old Virginia? " 
 
 They were interrupted by a middle-aged lady whom 
 half the town called Cousin Betty. She entered joy- 
 ously with a little jar of brandy peaches and some 
 sweet pickles in her hands. 
 
 " They were given to me, dear," she said, offering 
 them to Aunt Constance, " but I had a feast where I 
 got them, and I just pass them on." 
 
 She indulged in a merry laugh that enlivened things. 
 
 " I am quite wealthy, this morning," she cried ; " I've 
 raffled off my old inlaid desk ! " 
 
 " Cousin Betty! " Page gasped, " not your beautiful 
 inlaid desk ! " 
 
 " Oh, yes, my dear, but it doesn't matter. Mattie 
 Harvey won it and, poor child, she'll send it back." 
 
 Page laughed. " In the meantime," said Cousin 
 Betty, " I have the money ! Whenever I get hard up," 
 she continued, " I raffle some of my useful or useless 
 valuables! It's exciting and it keeps me going! " 
 
 " Betty," said Aunt Constance, recovering herself, 
 " I couldn't do such things to save my life! " 
 
 " Well, my dear Constance, I don't suppose you 
 could, but / can and that's the difference between us. 
 We can't be all alike, you know, and of course, it's a 
 blessed thing we can't ! " 
 
 " I sometimes wonder," said Aunt Constance in a 
 suppressed voice, " what we are all coming to ! " 
 
 " Oh, so do I," exclaimed Cousin Betty airily, " and," 
 she added, " to think of the things we do have to do !
 
 OPPOSITION 19 
 
 If it wasn't for all the old things I have and which I 
 raffle, I'd actually be at my wits' end at times. But 
 I can't believe that the good Lord has entirely forgot- 
 ten us, though sometimes it seems so! Both of those 
 old houses of mine are vacant," she added. 
 
 " Oh, how dreadful," echoed Page. 
 
 " Yes, it is. I haven't been able to put any repairs 
 on them and the people, good souls, were actually 
 afraid they would tumble down on them. Surely," 
 she went on, laughing heartily, " I'm in a dilemma. If 
 I appropriate the rent to fixing up the houses, I have 
 nothing to live on, and if I don't appropriate it to fix- 
 ing them up, the people can't live in them and pay me 
 the rent, so what on earth am I to do? " 
 
 " I declare I don't know," and Aunt Constance 
 could not resist a little laugh with the others. But 
 suddenly she buried her face in her hands and began to 
 cry. 
 
 " My dear Constance! " Cousin Betty cried, " what 
 is the matter? " 
 
 " It's Page," said Aunt Constance, freeing her face 
 and looking out through tear dimmed eyes, " she's 
 thinking of going away." 
 
 " Good gracious, are you paying attention to Page's 
 nonsense? She always has some outlandish ideas in 
 her head. It's this shutting herself up writing a lot 
 of silly stuff that's turning her head. You've got to 
 stop that, Page," she said, turning to her, " leave the 
 writing and all that kind of thing to the men, dear. 
 The George Eliots and George Sands and all those 
 masculine creatures! Why, if your father and grand- 
 father were to hear of these tendencies of yours up 
 in heaven, they would come down to set you straight. 
 You're mighty lucky to be able to live on the top floor
 
 20 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 of your little house and with enough to eat. Under 
 the circumstances, you ought to be content ! " 
 
 " Oh, I know it, Cousin Betty ! " exclaimed Page, 
 "I ought to be!" 
 
 " Do you know what else you ought to do," said 
 Cousin Betty. " You ought to marry David Lee. In 
 that way, what with renting your house, you could all 
 live very comfortably." 
 
 Page laughed hysterically. " Marry Dave and live 
 in his solemn old prison with his mother doing her 
 duty and his Uncle Ran reading law and chewing 
 tobacco all day ! I couldn't do it ! I know What mar- 
 riage means these days! It means poverty and toil 
 and " 
 
 " It means happiness to the woman who loves her 
 husband, no matter what the conditions are ! " Cousin 
 Betty interrupted hotly. 
 
 " I don't believe it, Cousin Betty ! They may think 
 they are happy, because they've been taught to think 
 marriage means happiness, but it wouldn't mean hap- 
 piness to me ! " 
 
 " Page ! " interrupted Aunt Constance reprovingly. 
 
 " You don't know what you are talking about, Page. 
 Your Aunt Constance and I must look after you 
 more," said Cousin Betty. " Put your hat on and let's 
 go out somewhere and change our thoughts. We'll 
 go around and see old Mrs. Paterson. When you get 
 back home, you'll think you are mighty well off ! " 
 
 In the street the brightness of the spring day met 
 them. It had rained the night before, the damp bricks 
 of the pavement, drying in the hot sun, sent up a warm 
 breath that touched their faces, but a gentle breeze 
 greeted it from above and the early leaves of the trees, 
 still damp, were quite dazzling.
 
 OPPOSITION 21 
 
 " This is a beautiful world, my dear, and the kind- 
 ness in it is sufficient to keep joy in us," said Cousin 
 Betty after a silence of a couple of blocks, during 
 which Page had been absently listening to the twitter- 
 ing of the birds. " Even old Mrs. Paterson has much 
 to keep life up and be thankful for. The Guild mem- 
 bers have put in and hired old Cynthia regularly for 
 her now, and it is a great comfort to her. The two 
 sit and talk by the hour of old times. Old Mrs. Hen- 
 derson scolds Cynthia every morning as a last remnant 
 of her power, but Cynthia says, ' She ain't no more'n 
 a child, en what she keer, enyhow, what old Miss 
 say.' ' Cousin Betty laughed. " I tell you, though, 
 it's a great come down ; the old lady entertained royally 
 when I was a little girl. They had their private wharf 
 and I don't know how many slaves ! " 
 
 " She looks like a mummy now," said Page sol- 
 emnly, " and her hands lying on her old black velvet 
 skirt are like shrunken lily leaves." 
 
 " Everything looks like something else to you, 
 Page," said Cousin Betty with a shade of impatience. 
 " Old Mrs. Paterson's hands don't look one bit like 
 shrunken lily leaves. They are the hands of a delicate 
 old gentlewoman, that's all ! " 
 
 " I wonder if I am going to develop into that kind 
 of an old gentlewoman or become a helpless dependent 
 like poor old Miss Mildred? " 
 
 " No," laughed Cousin Betty, " because David Lee 
 isn't going to let you." 
 
 " Oh ! Dave," Page returned, flushing, " that's out 
 of the question! It seems to me we are all tending 
 towards something terrible!" she added tragically. 
 
 " We are all tending towards what the good Lord has 
 in store for us, Page. The trouble is you are letting
 
 22 
 
 your imagination run away with you. Your talk of 
 leaving home, my dear, is preposterous. The writing 
 fever is bad enough, but if you have it, and have got to 
 go through it, home, where everybody loves you and 
 will overlook things, is the place for you. I wonder 
 why/' she added, turning sharply upon her, " you 
 can't make up your mind to marry David he loves 
 you, has a comfortable home to take you to, and that 
 would end all your burdens. And let me tell you this, 
 Page: you should put that wild thought of going away 
 out of your mind forever! You are very dear to us 
 all, Page ; you have no idea how dear, and I'm some- 
 times wicked enough to wonder how even heaven 
 could be sweeter than our dear old Virginia. Why 
 sometimes in the morning when I go out for a walk, 
 it's so sweet out of doors, the air is so fresh and the 
 breeze hits me in the face so delicately and the sky all 
 over me is so blue that I feel it's not so much that we 
 love Virginia as that Virginia loves us. I wish you 
 would promise me to never speak again as you did to- 
 day, that is, unless you want to break your Aunt Con- 
 stance's heart ! " 
 
 Page made no reply, and they walked on in silence 
 until they reached the little rose-covered frame house 
 in which Mrs. Paterson occupied a rear room on the 
 first floor, which opened out on a small porch into the 
 back yard. Soon Page was listening with rapt atten- 
 tion to the conversation of the four women, for Aunt 
 Cynthia, seated on Mrs. Paterson's little hair trunk, 
 which was probably over a hundred years old, took 
 part. But while she listened outwardly calm and def- 
 erential, a sharp analysis of the lives of these people 
 and their topics of conversation was going on in her 
 mind, until gradually, as the sun began to lower and
 
 OPPOSITION 23 
 
 desert the little porch, a settled melancholy was upon 
 her. When they reached the street, however, her spir- 
 its rose. The visit to her Aunt Constance and to this 
 impoverished old gentlewoman, living upon memories 
 and false sentiment, the latter tyrannized over by an 
 old negress, had given courage to her heart that leaped 
 at one more battle gained in its behalf. 
 
 " Constance," Cousin Betty said, as Page parted 
 from them at a corner, " you leave Page to me. She 
 will stay right here and marry David Lee that's 
 what Miss Page will do! " 
 
 " You don't know her, Betty, she has such a strong 
 will!" 
 
 " So have I a strong will ! Now, I tell you what 
 we'll do! We'll just take a trip down the James River 
 to Fielding Peyton's, carry Page along, get Dave there 
 at the same time, and I warrant ten to one the whole 
 matter will come to a head. Now you see ! " 
 
 " Do you think so, Betty ? " Aunt Constance asked 
 wistfully. 
 
 "Of course I do ! Now don't say a word; I'm go- 
 ing to pay the expense ! " 
 
 " Dear Betty ! " Aunt Constance exclaimed. 
 
 " Dear you! " said Cousin Betty. " You are in need 
 of a change a breath of country air will do you a 
 world of good! "
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 VANISHING HOMESTEADS 
 
 THE next morning it was raining hopelessly. Page 
 thought dismally, as she often had before, that it could 
 never rain anywhere, except Richmond, in just this 
 way. She looked a while through the blurred mist 
 and at the regular little rivers that ran through the 
 reddish earth of the streets, experiencing a satisfaction 
 in the terrific downpour as if it were some kind of 
 an outlet to her own feelings. Then she dressed herself 
 and went over to the house opposite for her breakfast. 
 
 The rent had been paid her. She felt like a crim- 
 inal when she took it, and she paid Mrs. Stebbins, and 
 Mrs. Stebbins felt like a criminal when she took it, and 
 so these war-impoverished beings lived. When Page 
 left the dining-room, old Mrs. Stebbins followed her 
 to the basement door, and put her big, soft, motherly 
 arms around her. 
 
 " Don't worry so, honey," she said. " You haven't 
 eaten enough in a week to keep a bird alive. Have I 
 ever pressed you for your board ? " 
 
 " No, Mrs. Stebbins, no, no, never ! You're always 
 good and kind to me and everybody, and we are always 
 owing you." She held the old woman close. " That's 
 what hurts so," she cried. " You would go on feed- 
 ing us if we never paid go on wearing your poor, 
 dear self out!" She freed herself. "What a des- 
 perate set we are who gather around your table, Mrs. 
 Stebbins ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 24
 
 VANISHING HOMESTEADS 25 
 
 " Lord, child," said Mrs. Stebbins, " as long as 
 we are kind to one another, what does it matter? 
 What hurts me is your holdin' back about eatin' be- 
 cause you're behind a few dollars. Honey, sometimes 
 I don't know which has paid me and which ain't, I jess 
 take what's handed me, thankful to God." 
 
 " That's no reason, Mrs. Stebbins," said Page hotly, 
 " why \ve should impose on you! " 
 
 " Miss Page," answered Mrs. Stebbins, while a 
 happy look crossed her dear old face, " nobody ever 
 imposed on me in my life! What's givin' a few meals 
 now en then? Honey, I love everybody that I has 
 to feed, whether they pay or not. I believe I love old 
 Miss Mildred more'n any." 
 
 Page left this old lady with a sweet feeling of holi- 
 ness upon her, but she knew that it would not prevent 
 her pride from stinging her if she hadn't the money 
 for her the next time. 
 
 Before she crossed the street, she stood for a long 
 time looking at the little house she lived in and those 
 on either side that formed the block. 
 
 It was very quaint and pretty, this little block of 
 homes. The houses, most of them small, simple, 
 brick structures, being in the hands of the real estate 
 people, were ready at a moment's notice to be torn 
 down and cast into oblivion. Each one had its yard 
 and particular characteristics and flowers. Page 
 knew all these flowers as she knew people, the rose- 
 bush at the corner, with snow white blossoms, the 
 pink one that climbed up the side of a falling chim- 
 ney ; the little yellow one just inside a certain gate, that 
 protected itself by briary stems and bloomed, year 
 after year, ahead of all the rest, with airy impudence 
 she knew them all ; the scarlet sage, the hollyhocks,
 
 26 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 the syringa bushes, the mimosa trees, the little patches 
 of cowslips, the sweet peas clinging to rotting sticks, 
 the snowballs, the lilies, white and yellow, and for a 
 long while now every blossom owed its life to her, for 
 when she spoke the word, they would bloom no more. 
 Suddenly she loved all these flowers and the sad, 
 broken-down little homes with a peculiar passionate 
 tenderness, and they all seemed to look reproachfully 
 at her and the dewdrops she fancied were their tears. 
 She walked to the corner. There was an old de- 
 serted house here whose owner, having sold out igno- 
 miniously on the first opportunity, had left for parts 
 unknown. The house was decaying, but attempted 
 to conceal this by covering itself with vines as the con- 
 sumptive's hectic flush conceals the ravages of his dis- 
 ease. The fences were partly down, the greenhouses 
 smashed and caved in, the grounds and paths over- 
 grown with weeds. It was desolation, but still a few 
 flowers bloomed there. She looked in their tender 
 faces and thought of Mrs. Paterson and her Aunt 
 Constance and many others. Their fences were down, 
 their windows smashed, wild weeds of poverty were 
 choking them, and yet they bloomed on, scarcely 
 knowing why in the midst of devastation. She thought 
 a long while, leaning against one of the old decrepit 
 fences and then her mind again reverted to this little 
 block of homes whose continued existence she held in 
 the hollow of her hand. Her heart went out to it 
 anew, and fingers seemed to clutch at it, because, in 
 spite of all, she saw stretched before her in a straight 
 hideous line the row of brick tenements.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 DREAMS UNVEILED 
 
 Ax eight o'clock in the evening, she was seated at her 
 little window looking out, first at the boarding-house 
 opposite, where the gas flames, all at half pressure 
 out of deference gas-economy had become a mad- 
 ness in this neighborhood were burning dolefully, 
 apparently without interest in their duty of lighting 
 up, and then at the dark shadows that appeared and 
 vanished either in one direction or the other. 
 
 Her mind was active planning a thousand schemes, 
 a thousand excuses, first of all to her Aunt Con- 
 stance, and this one and that one, provided she should 
 go away. 
 
 Suddenly David Lee appeared out of the gloom 
 approaching the house with his slow, graceful stride. 
 She knew him a block away, and against her will her 
 heart leaped to her throat and throbbed. 
 
 Not only had her name always, even from child- 
 hood, been coupled with his, but she knew also that he 
 had influence over her, half hypnotic, that she had al- 
 ways found difficult to resist. With her present in- 
 tentions, he assumed the form of a partly feared, 
 partly inspired enemy. Dave was the one she would 
 find it hardest to fight ; the one who would stand like 
 a rock between her and the sea of self-realization she 
 longed to plunge into. 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett came to the foot of the steps and called 
 her. 
 
 27
 
 28 
 
 She answered but remained seated afterwards a 
 full five minutes. Finally she arose, descended the two 
 flights of stairs slowly, and a few moments later con- 
 fronted him, standing in the center of Mrs. Bartlett's 
 stiff little parlor. 
 
 Close and musty it was, its carpet of great garlands 
 of faded roses giving out the faint odor of time. As 
 Mrs. Bartlett, like the rest of her neighbors, economized 
 in gas, a small lamp was burning on one end of the 
 piano. It threw a circle of light on the dingy ceiling 
 and lit up a wreath of immortelles, under a glass case, 
 that had once decorated the coffin of a dead relative, 
 but were now hanging on the wall. The sofa upon 
 which they sat was hard and small and covered in 
 horsehair. Hanging above their heads was a chromo 
 of the Savior nailed to the cross, and over the man- 
 tel-piece, above a framed photograph of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Bartlett in wedding attire, was another picture of some 
 very ripe fruit tumbling out of a basket. 
 
 Never was there more forbidding stage for a young 
 lover bent upon pleading a difficult cause, and Dave, 
 with a kind of half smile, took this in. Then a look 
 of sadness crossed his delicate features. It was a pic- 
 ture of the grim present, as the home he had just left 
 was a picture of the mellowed past. He wondered for 
 a moment what the picture of the future would be. 
 
 " Your Cousin Betty took tea with us last night," 
 he began presently, leading Page to the small horse- 
 hair sofa and seating her beside him. 
 
 "Yes?" asked Page. 
 
 There was a pause and then he added with attempted 
 levity : 
 
 " She rather shocked mother by telling her of your 
 talk about going away."
 
 DREAMS UNVEILED 29 
 
 " I have no doubt that the idea will shock every- 
 one at first," Page replied with a nervous laugh. 
 " I suppose it is also a shock to you." 
 
 "Shock?" Dave answered quietly, "I would con- 
 sider your putting into effect such an idea something 
 like a tragedy." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " In my life." 
 
 She looked up at him, her eyes lit by a sudden lumi- 
 nosity. 
 
 " Dave," she said, " I know how perverse this idea 
 of mine seems, and yet the time has come for me to 
 make some kind of change. I have received another 
 offer for this house. Those real estate men I told you 
 of want it more than ever. Their intention is to tear 
 down this whole block and put up a row of tenement 
 houses. They have gotten possession of all but this 
 one. When I do leave here, I want to do something 
 to make my own living, and New York seems to me to 
 be the place to do it, unmolested and in my own way. 
 With the money," she spoke rapidly, " I receive for the 
 house, I can go! " 
 
 " Why do you want to leave home, Page ? " 
 
 " To write," she answered, flushing hotly. 
 
 " Can't you write here haven't you been doing 
 so?" 
 
 " Yes, but not successfully. I want to be alone 
 to be separated from my present conditions ! I want," 
 her voice was a bit unsteady, " a small corner and iso- 
 lation I want I do not know how to explain it 
 to realize myself in order to express what that self 
 contains. Here I am, like so many others, a part of 
 the whole I do not dare to be myself ! " 
 
 " Have you no thought whatever," he asked a bit
 
 30 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 sternly, " of our marriage as the solution to all this 
 mental unrest ? " 
 
 She looked squarely at him. " No ! For there are 
 rights of my being that cry out for what marriage 
 could never supply! Marriage! Marrying and, as 
 they call it, settling down for life, is just what I don't 
 want I want to live ! " 
 
 " Page," exclaimed Dave sharply, " marriage is a 
 woman's life! " 
 
 " It isn't ! I've seen enough of marriages in our 
 desperate circumstances. Women become the slaves 
 of men and men become the slaves of women. You 
 know that it is so, Dave ; you see it with your own eyes 
 every day. Marriage ! " she laughed hysterically, 
 " what have we, such as you and I, to do with mar- 
 riage ? " 
 
 He half-smiled into the lit up eyes. " I have never 
 regarded marriage in that light," he replied. And then 
 the smile died and a glow, similar to that in her own 
 eyes, lit his. " To me marriage is a divine luxury, a 
 holy joy; a mad but sacred passion that obliterates 
 conditions and makes of the prison house a palace. 
 The ideas that take possession of my brain when I 
 dare think of marriage in connection with you are so 
 fine, so lofty, so dazzling, that if I gave them full 
 play, they would build a monument before your eyes 
 that would shut out the world and make you a reck- 
 lessly willing captive ! " He followed his words with 
 a low triumphant laugh that stirred her. 
 
 She felt the spell of him, the charm of his poetic 
 personality and marvelous voice, the voice of the 
 speaker, the born orator, the man who makes music 
 out of words, dominating her as it always did, and she 
 resisted it.
 
 DREAMS UNVEILED 31 
 
 " Captivity," she cried, " I don't want captivity. I 
 want freedom ! Freedom to be myself to work out 
 my own destiny. My mind is full of wonderful 
 dreams. These dreams are always with me, no matter 
 how I strive to put them from me. If only I could 
 put them from me, and go on living out my life as 
 every one else does! But I can't! No sooner do I 
 make the attempt than they rise up and tear at my 
 brain. When I close my eyes at night, I see visions 
 that blind me, and I want to write out these visions 
 and give them to the world and have the world ap- 
 plaud them. I can't quell this ; ah ! Dave, it may not 
 be noble or great to feel this way, but the call is 
 stronger than I it hardens my heart to all that I 
 hold sacred; it make me at times utterly unworthy in 
 my own eyes. When I see myself turning my back 
 on all those who love me and whom I love, I hate my- 
 self ! But I do turn away! I've grown intolerant of 
 duty, these duties that seem to be crushing everyone! " 
 Her eyes shot forth a dismal gleam. " I am so tired of 
 living in hideous poverty of seeing it breathing 
 it," she waved her hand, " every day, every hour of my 
 life!" 
 
 She leaned her back against the hard sofa and 
 closed her eyes. Dave studied her wistfully. She was 
 so rare, so feminine, so lovely and so childishly un- 
 conscious of the world she was contemplating, that it 
 made him sick with fear. How could he how did 
 he dare lift the veil that would show her why it 
 would be a tragedy not alone for him, but for her, 
 a young, innocent, inexperienced girl, to even contem- 
 plate the step. It left him dumb. 
 
 His face had grown pale, the light gradually faded 
 from his eyes and a stern pathetic sadness rilled them.
 
 32 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 Presently he rose and stood in front of her, still gaz- 
 ing upon her face with its closed eyes. He under- 
 stood her perfectly; in heart, brain, and temperament. 
 She was an open book to him one that he had been 
 reading all his life and knew word for word. In this 
 moment, she was a tired, worn-out child to him who 
 had traveled a weary, rocky road, and who fancied she 
 saw alluring lights of a strange city ahead. She was 
 a sick child whom he longed to take in his arms and 
 comfort and make forget its pain. All her life passed 
 in one swift second before him and wrung his heart. 
 He seemed to see into her very soul all its desires 
 aspirations due to a violent imagination. Then 
 suddenly the blood rushed to his face. What had he 
 to offer her? Himself, and she did not find him suf- 
 ficient. He spoke very gently to her as her eyes 
 opened and met his own. 
 
 " Let's go out on Gamble's Hill," he said, " it's beau- 
 tiful there anyway." 
 
 She rose absently and walked in silence with him 
 to the streets and then on and on, still in silence, until 
 they reached the familiar place.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE LOVER'S APPEAL 
 
 THE air was warm as they stood there on the old 
 hillside. The heavens, bursting with lights, seemed 
 each moment lowering upon them. Below and in 
 front of them against a background of velvety black 
 night, the Tredegar Iron Works gleamed red and 
 lurid. Over the trestles, the trains crawled, looking 
 in the distance like illumined snakes. The men, bare to 
 the waist, were appallingly grotesque, yet picturesque, 
 and between them and in front of the iron works 
 rolled the river, quiescent and peaceful, reflecting all 
 the power and majesty of the scene. 
 
 They stood for the most part enveloped in darkness 
 but occasionally lit up by the sudden lights that glowed 
 steadily. For a few moments, Page observed Dave 
 closely. His dark eyes were looking over her head 
 far beyond her, his thin lips were tightly pressed, his 
 features were set in a tense stare. 
 
 She called his name once, twice, three times. She 
 called him then sharply, and he turned slowly and, 
 bending his gaze upon her, lashed her with a glance. 
 
 " Page," he exclaimed in a repressed voice, " you've 
 got to give up these wild ideas of yours these dreams 
 or whatever you choose to call them. You could 
 never, even though they took you to the farthest cor- 
 ners of the earth, be able to realize them, because you 
 could not descend to the level of them never depart 
 sufficiently from yourself and all that you were born to. 
 
 33
 
 34 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 For a moment what you said so astonished me that I 
 stood breathless in the contemplation of the impres- 
 sion. But now I must talk to you, and you must lis- 
 ten ! I can understand what influences you but I can- 
 not be in sympathy. To sacrifice all that one holds 
 sacred for the possibility of acquiring fame and com- 
 fort, even the very pomp and splendors of the world, 
 is as abhorrent to me as enduring and witnessing pov- 
 erty seems to be to you. Since the history of the 
 world is full of such instances, there must be some 
 excuse for it, but that the poison should have entered 
 you whom I hold so sacred ! You are talking of tak- 
 ing this precious body away to a strange and unknown 
 land, a land that it seems to me must be to you always 
 strange. Do you forget that the body is the home of 
 your soul! Can you take your soul to New York, 
 Page, can you? Is it the place for it? Is it?" His 
 voice, with its rising inflection, was musical on the 
 night air, and stirred her so that words died in her 
 throat. 
 
 " I know you so much better than you know your- 
 self, know that your dreams are your life, but I 
 honestly believe sweeter dreams can come to you in 
 your little attic room here than in a palace in New 
 York. Believe me, your dreams would be dispelled 
 there, and the very purpose of your going thwarted. 
 Of all the people in the world you are the least suited 
 to New York. They speak English there, yes, but it 
 will be a foreign tongue to you, and their ways will 
 be foreign ways to you. You do not realize it now, 
 for you are blind ! " He laid his hands gently upon 
 her shoulders. " It is your youth pent up with the de- 
 sire for expression that blinds you. Oh! That I 
 could take the bandages from these sweet, sweet eyes
 
 THE LOVER'S APPEAL 35 
 
 and make you see ! Listen to me ! There are times, 
 dearest heart, when we all want to embark upon the 
 ocean of the world with our song, but is it wise is 
 it wise for you ? No, no, my beloved ; believe me it is 
 not wise. Only one thing is wise for you, Page 
 my love! Come with me even though the road seems 
 dark to you ! Come to my old sacred home and forget 
 your desire for fame and the vulgar world. I promise 
 you something better than fame, better than the world 
 can give; I promise daily feasts of love with God's seal 
 upon them. The happiness I want to give you is un- 
 thinkable; if you could only see a shadow of it you 
 would fall into my arms! Page! Are you listen- 
 ing to me? You cannot go to New York it would 
 blight my life and be your ruin! " 
 
 She turned and looked at him as his voice ceased, 
 and caught all the radiance of his beauty. His youth, 
 his ardor, his glorified passion for her flashed upon her 
 gaze. A slight moisture stood out on her forehead, 
 but her eyes lowered before him. 
 
 He felt the significance of these lowered lids. She 
 was resisting him refusing to follow him. Tears 
 gushed to his eyes and he became a suppliant. " Give 
 up these ideas ! " he cried, taking her hands up in a 
 sharp grasp. " There are times when one, no matter 
 what his feelings are, should sacrifice them in a sur- 
 render. You cannot go to New York, Page! Who 
 there would understand you, your little joys, your little 
 sorrows, your peculiar Southern way of viewing 
 things, the sacred thrills that generations have made 
 possible? It is not so easy to learn new ways. I 
 know too well that your future often looms up dark 
 before you, but you can put it in my hands make 
 it wv worshipful care! You see lights in the distance
 
 36 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 beckoning you, but those lights will vanish at your 
 approach and always beyond you you will see other 
 lights. That is your nature, your eyes are fixed on 
 the beyond ahead of you, so that you more than 
 anyone need some one to guide your footsteps. What 
 you require is not freedom but to be bound hand and 
 foot by love, to find all your life in that. Do not be 
 blinded, Page; poor as I am, little as I have to offer, 
 my love will make up for everything! I know that 
 I am the one man on earth capable of understanding 
 you, and therefore the one man on earth for you and 
 life by my side the only life for you! " 
 
 " Dave," she answered almost in a whisper, " listen 
 to me ! " 
 
 He pressed her hands to his hot lips. " I will ! 
 Speak, my love, tell me what I am to hear ! " 
 
 " Dave, I may be blind, as you say, but my heart 
 does not respond to the life you describe. While 
 you were speaking, with my mind's eye, in one flash 
 I saw into a thousand homes in Richmond all built 
 upon the same lines, no variety. The keynote of 
 every life repression repression of self and obedi- 
 ence to the inexorable, cruel authority of custom. I 
 saw thousands of women obliterated in ideas of wife- 
 hood. This obliteration of self, even for the sake of 
 the love you offer, does not appeal to me! " 
 
 He caught her hands. " Page, my darling ! What 
 are you saying? " 
 
 She freed them. " No, let me go on. Before I 
 surrender myself to love, obliterate myself in love, 
 I want to see what that self is what is contained in 
 it. That is why I want to go away go where I 
 shall not be afraid to look myself in the face and say 
 what are you and be free to take the answer! I be-
 
 THE LOVER'S APPEAL 37 
 
 lieve there is something more in life than to become a 
 wife! Why merge my personality into yours before 
 I even know what that personality contains, demands, 
 or is capable of? " 
 
 Each word she spoke stabbed him to the heart, 
 plunged a knife into all the preconceived ideas by 
 which he had lived and which made women sacred. 
 It seemed to him that the blood flowed from his heart 
 and left it dry and aching. She became a stranger 
 to him, a stranger who had ruthlessly insulted all that 
 he held sacred. He was stung to the quick, and for 
 one brief moment hatred of her staggered him. This 
 strange feminine apparition that had suddenly ap- 
 peared before him and boldly and defiantly planted 
 her feet upon all that he revered. Then she became 
 Page again, the angel woman he had adored all his life, 
 flaunting her wings in his face and making ready to 
 fly away from him. A sudden fury possessed him 
 as he laid his hands heavily on her shoulders and low- 
 ered a fiery gaze to hers. " You've got to love me," 
 he cried, " got to, you understand, with your whole 
 heart and soul, so that nothing else counts in your 
 life!" 
 
 To his surprise, she laughed in his face. 
 
 In a flash, while stung to the quick, he recognized 
 that a new battle was to be fought if he hoped to 
 frustrate Page's intentions and win her and no ac- 
 tual thought of renouncing that hope had occurred 
 to him a new battle that involved the use of his 
 brain as well as his heart. 
 
 He was not only to dissuade her from a false step, 
 but he was to tear down and make her trample under 
 her own feet a flag that she had raised to new ideas 
 of existence that had no more place in the environ-
 
 38 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 ment of their lives than had the song of birds at the 
 bottom of the sea. As he thought thus, a new feeling 
 of anger, coupled with a physical passion for her, be- 
 fore unrecognized or not admitted, burnt in him like a 
 flame, while outwardly he remained as passive as the 
 stolid earth beneath their feet. 
 
 Suddenly a sob escaped her, and she attempted to 
 fling herself against him, but he gently pushed her 
 from him. 
 
 It was past eleven o'clock. All about them was 
 darkness, with the little flickering gas flames of the 
 old street lamps struggling at intervals. In front of 
 them the Tredegar Iron Works Foundry went on with 
 its work. The men were still moving about in the 
 flames; coming as though out of the earth, long rails 
 of red-hot iron, were apparently handled with their 
 bare hands. 
 
 Dave's eyes were fixed on this scene, but his mind 
 had awakened to action. For twenty-five years he 
 had lived with a man's dreams but without definite 
 purpose. In one flash with beat of his heart at a 
 woman's cruel laugh, it came to him. He put her hand 
 on his arm and led her away in silence.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 A PRODUCT OF WAR 
 
 AT her door, he parted from her almost without a 
 word, and walked slowly home. 
 
 Acute melancholy oppressed him. For the first 
 time in his life he had opposed a woman by the use of 
 his brain. Had he taken advantage of Page's mood 
 to press her to him in a fierce embrace and implant 
 kisses upon her lips he would have possessed a mo- 
 mentary control of her. But he had recognized in a 
 flash that this would have been to put himself in her 
 power. 
 
 To control Page, through his love and magnetism, 
 she would have to be constantly under his influence, 
 in his presence. That being out of the question, ap- 
 parently, although he did not entirely admit it, for the 
 present, he must use his brain as a weapon against 
 her for his own defense. His fury spent, this sent 
 a little spasm of pain through his heart such as the 
 parent feels who must cruelly correct the child, or the 
 master who raises the whip in the field over an over- 
 enthusiastic and unmanageable hunting dog. It would 
 have been very sweet to have taken advantage of her 
 mood, fold her to his heart in a lover's embrace and 
 enjoy the sweetness of lips that had ever since he 
 could remember been to him a tantalizing challenge. 
 
 Suddenly he felt a sense of victory and pride in the 
 strength he had manifested, that encouraged and lent 
 him ardor as to possibilities in himself. His pace 
 
 39
 
 40 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 quickened, and he reached his home only half-con- 
 scious of having covered the distance. 
 
 As he entered the front door and stood in the old 
 hall, with its well-worn oilcloth covered floor, and 
 ancient massive furniture, a feeling of weariness at 
 his own past inactivity overpowered him. Like Page, 
 he was a war-product and the inertia of his vanquished 
 land had been a part of his existence. 
 
 He entered the library where a low light was always 
 left burning for him, and just as Page had sat in her 
 little attic room and contemplated her environment, he 
 stood here contemplating his. 
 
 The family consisted of his mother, her brother, and 
 himself. 
 
 The house proper belonged to his Uncle Randolph, 
 who, at the close of the war, closed his law office, re- 
 moved all his books to his home, and took in his sister, 
 widowed through the war, and her son David. 
 
 The house was in a somewhat dilapidated condition, 
 in fact, in a very dilapidated condition, but Uncle 
 Randolph, who had been a brilliant, shrewd lawyer, 
 had accumulated some wealth outside of his slaves, and 
 so had managed to retain his home. The wealth had 
 slipped away, but the house remained intact, without 
 mortgage, and the only struggle connected with it was 
 meeting the taxes. Beyond the use of the house, and 
 the donation of his small income, Uncle Randolph did 
 nothing. Broken in spirit, yet resentful, he simply 
 lived, like many others of his generation, a stubborn, 
 practically useless existence. 
 
 He was a man of powerful personality, tall, some- 
 what inclined to stoutness, with a scholarly, majestic 
 countenance. He did absolutely nothing but eat his 
 meals, read his paper and his law books. When com-
 
 A PRODUCT OF WAR 41 
 
 pany came, he occasionally took part in the conversa- 
 tion, but often it was only a glimpse of him, seated in 
 his old high-backed leather chair, reading, that was 
 vouchsafed them. He chewed tobacco, and in the 
 summer spat over the rail of the porch and in the win- 
 ter into the fireplace. 
 
 Very much had been done for David by his mother 
 and his Uncle Randolph all his life, and he had never 
 been able to convince himself that he was worthy of 
 their sacrifices. In fact, his young eyes had gradually 
 opened upon so much hopelessness that hopelessness 
 had become a part of his childhood. Bread was of so 
 much consequence that it was quite easy for him to 
 feel that everything should be sacrificed to producing 
 it. If ever ambition dawned, as it often did like a 
 painful flame burning in his brain, he stifled it as some- 
 thing of which, in the circumstances, a man should be 
 ashamed, as a kind of selfishness not to be tolerated. 
 What he wanted to do was to work, work with his 
 hands, his whole body, no matter what at, so long as 
 he was of use. He would drive a street car, be a 
 brakeman on the railroad, be a foreman in a factory 
 what did it matter ? He resented his mother's and his 
 Uncle Ran's restrictions, their forbidding him to go 
 out as his friends did these friends who were heroes 
 in his eyes, who worked from morning till night at 
 some hard and uncongenial occupation. He felt that 
 he was living upon them like an invalid. 
 
 The days when a man could be an idler and a scholar 
 were over, and yet that was the life, against his will, 
 he had lived. He was sick of daily sacrifices for his 
 sake. At six years of age, he resented his mother's 
 teaching school in the basement that he might have 
 about him the stimulation of other pupils, but that was
 
 42 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 how his education began, and to this day that gloomy 
 room, with its low fire and his mother's patient, fer- 
 vent face, stung him. When the day arrived for him 
 to go to college and perfect himself in law, there were 
 two pale faces, whose problem was solved by his Uncle 
 Ran mortgaging the plantation upon which he and his 
 forefathers had been born. The burden of these sac- 
 rifices burnt into his soul. He was never reconciled 
 to them. 
 
 " Mother," he would say when a little child, " how 
 can I sit upstairs in comfort studying while you are 
 downstairs washing dishes ? " 
 
 " Because," she would answer brightly, " you are the 
 young lord." 
 
 And then he would reply bitterly, " It is your pride, 
 mother, that makes you forbid me to go to work, and 
 it is only my deference to it that controls me." 
 
 " Suppose it is, my son," she would answer gravely, 
 " since it is all that is left me, would you rob me of it ? 
 I brought you into the world, David, and the day and 
 hour that you descend to menial labor you will send me 
 out of it." 
 
 And so the boy plodded on, feeling almost at times 
 a criminal, ashamed of the bread he ate and the clothes 
 he wore. 
 
 Up to the present time, just as he had never con- 
 sciously put his brain to any practical use, he had never 
 turned a dollar. It was partly this that caused Page, 
 with her desperate view of things, to be blinded to the 
 real man. He knew full well that in her sight he was 
 a being who trod the world apologetically while his 
 brothers were fighting the good fight for their wives, 
 their mothers, and sisters. She had said some sting- 
 ing things to him, things that had brought the blood
 
 A PRODUCT OF WAR 43 
 
 to his dark, handsome face, but he never replied. He 
 felt that she was right. 
 
 While in his presence, he fascinated her as he fas- 
 cinated all sensitive women, by his melodious voice, 
 a voice that penetrated the senses like a narcotic a 
 flow of rhythmic language, and a kind of poetic beauty 
 that one associates with the ideal cavalier and that 
 clung to the eyes, even against the will. 
 
 It was this cavalier beauty, together with his air of 
 delicate distinction, that held his mother captive, so 
 that rather than see those finely fashioned hands drive 
 a nail, she would, in secret, have hired herself out to 
 perform any service. Page fought his deference to 
 that for which no credit was due him ; his mother en- 
 couraged and feasted herself upon it. If Dave was 
 conscious of it, it was in a bitter way as though he 
 himself was a vanity of his mother's that he could not 
 insult. He nevertheless appreciated his physical gifts 
 and ability to charm, and he rejoiced in his character 
 which he felt could not be tarnished. A vein of hu- 
 mor that brightened many a situation, especially for 
 his mother, ran through him, and an abounding love 
 for what was fine in people kept up his spirits. He 
 was, in fact, much of a Virginia gentleman of the old 
 school, facing life, the difficult problem of life, in 
 which that school no longer actually counted. 
 
 He took his seat and began to study himself and his 
 environment. 
 
 Page had once spoken of his home, in his presence, 
 as a prison. Was it? He could not admit this and 
 his eyes filled, out of very love of it. It was, he ad- 
 mitted, gloomy and ponderous, but it had ever been 
 illumined by that peculiar passionate adoration that 
 Southern families expend upon one another. Each
 
 44 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 of the three beings of this household was, in the eyes 
 of the other, perfection, three elect ones, whom fate 
 had dealt unkindly with and who, in consequence, 
 must be very tender to one another. His mother he 
 regarded as a saint. 
 
 That Uncle Randolph was a grumbler no one at- 
 tempted to deny; but his grumbling was impersonal 
 and directed against the " Yankees " and conditions 
 generally. It was a way of giving vent to arrested 
 energies. His views were the views of the genera- 
 tion that had preceded him, and nothing could change 
 these views and nothing could reconcile him to exist- 
 ing conditions. Everything was right before the war 
 and everything was wrong since the war, and there the 
 whole matter ended. Dave had imbibed these teach- 
 ings from his infancy, and to-night in the face of 
 Page's outburst he had no doubt that in many respects 
 they were narrow. 
 
 He pondered thus a long while, seated in the low 
 arm chair, with his dark head slightly lowered, his eyes 
 bright with excitement, environed by the solemn im- 
 pressive furniture, the gloomy wall papering, with fall 
 leaves of pale gold and Launcelot riding away from 
 Guinivere; rows upon rows of law-books imprisoned 
 under glass doors in the tall mahogany book-cases, and 
 the whole lit up half dismally by one lowered gas 
 burner of the large crystal chandelier that always jin- 
 gled like a faint orchestra to every footstep. 
 
 All these things penetrated him with a sense of fit- 
 ness, and his views of what Page's life should be even 
 apart from himself remained unchanged. If they 
 walked the narrow road of conventionality, as Page 
 had said, if the keynote of existence was, as she had 
 also said, repression and the merging of the individual
 
 45 
 
 into ideas, it was best for the community as a whole. 
 He could see no flaw, even if the road was narrow, 
 and all marched to the same step. It was a clean 
 road, bounded by conventions that had for their foun- 
 dation, first of all, man's protection of the fireside. 
 His belief in woman as a wife and mother, finding 
 her sole happiness in her husband and her children, 
 could not be shaken. 
 
 Page was not the first wild colt broken to harness, 
 and sometimes this was accomplished through gentle- 
 ness. 
 
 He arose, put out the gas, and ascended the stairs.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE MOTHER 
 
 NOT many nights passed without a little visit, short 
 or long, as the case might be, to his mother's chamber 
 before finally retiring for the night, so with no sur- 
 prise in the smile that lit up her face as she saw him 
 in the doorway, she greeted him. 
 
 David always felt upon entering his mother's room 
 that he was entering a sanctuary; time and her own 
 pure existence in it rendered it sacred to him. It had 
 to-night its accustomed aspect of the hour, and, as 
 was the case in the library, nothing in it during his 
 lifetime had changed or, he felt, would ever change. 
 The pieces of furniture were as fixed in their niche 
 as the mantel-piece and windows in theirs, and, in Da- 
 vid's eyes, had a personality equal to that of the mem- 
 bers of the family. 
 
 The bed, a large teester one, was turned down for 
 the night, and the threadbare Marseilles counterpane 
 and large day pillows were in their accustomed place, 
 where they were put to rest every night as regularly 
 as the family went to bed. The thin worn blankets, 
 yellow from age, with pale blue borders barely visible, 
 were actually members of the family, and in his eyes, 
 respected as such. They were growing old with their 
 generation, getting thin, and giving out little heat, 
 getting worthless, in fact, but they were kept sweet and 
 clean just as some old, old ladies that David knew, and 
 their place on the bed was just as assured as that of 
 
 46
 
 THE MOTHER 47 
 
 the old ladies in their little rockers. Dave wondered 
 once how he would feel if he should enter his mother's 
 room at night and find a pair of new blankets on the 
 bed. Certainly not comfortable ; it would be as though 
 they had joined the ranks of the modern vulgar and 
 performed an unpardonable offense to the old. That 
 Mrs. Lee covered herself in very cold weather with 
 flannel skirts and woolen wrappers was an open secret 
 never referred to. She always had on, at this hour, 
 one of these woolen wrappers. Just as she arranged 
 her hair always in the same fashion these wrappers 
 were always cut by the same pattern. They were not 
 pretty, but they were a part of her and nothing could 
 actually mar her frozen beauty. 
 
 While not of an affectionate nature, she was re- 
 splendently endowed with the power of loving, and 
 this passionate giving of herself to the few she selected 
 to hold dear, illumined her being. There seemed to 
 be a kind of resentment against an unjust fate per- 
 vading her soul, a resentment that manifested itself 
 in strict obedience to it. An old ribbon, worn waist, 
 or pair of worthless shoes, would have bought the 
 services of the colored people, glad to work for such 
 things, or a meal or two, but she never availed herself 
 of such opportunities. She retained their old cook, 
 a little grandson of the old woman helped her in the 
 house, and with her own delicate hands, she did the 
 rest. A stubborn life but a patient life and a holy life. 
 
 Downstairs in the gloomy old parlor, the window 
 shutters of which were rarely opened, and where in 
 winter a fire was rarely lit, there was a portrait of her 
 in a black velvet bodice, with curls on one white shoul- 
 der and a tea rosebud over her ear above the curls. 
 
 This vision of his mother always mystified Dave.
 
 48 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 There was a roguish smile on the pictured face such 
 as he had never seen on the living face. He had heard 
 that no one ever saw it from the day they brought his 
 father home from the war, and laid him before her, 
 dead. Before that, he was told, it had always been 
 roguish, piquant, merry; that her eyes sparkled and 
 that her laugh went with her like a bird's song. For 
 his part, he had only seen her as a patient Madonna, 
 a creature dead to all worldly thoughts, on fire with 
 love for himself, who punctiliously performed du- 
 ties for his sake. 
 
 She was seated to-night as usual beside a round 
 mahogany center-table that held her Bible, a faded 
 framed photograph of her dead husband, in his Con- 
 federate uniform, and a little daguerreotype of David 
 taken in his seventh year. 
 
 Over at her back was the, apparently patient, old 
 washstand that had been holding all these years, with 
 great caution, her bridal china-set, of which not one 
 piece had been broken. There had been times in Da- 
 vid's life when he had trembled at the thought of 
 knocking off a piece of that china, and even now he 
 passed it in awe. Everything in the room was seri- 
 ously respected by him, from the darns of the flowers 
 on the lace curtains that hung majestically from the 
 deep gilt cornice and had two heavy cords, once red 
 but now a rusty brown, to the pin-cushion well fitted 
 in a silver filigree frame. Sometimes Dave smiled at 
 the profound respect with which he treated these 
 things. 
 
 " I wonder, mother," he said, entering the room and 
 taking his stand in front of her, " if there is in all the 
 world a woman as lovely as you are this moment in 
 this quaint old room of yours ? "
 
 THE MOTHER 49 
 
 " Or a woman who has such a handsome son ? " she 
 returned brightly. 
 
 He seated himself comfortably in a frayed arm- 
 chair that was always placed for him. 
 
 " Am I so handsome ? " he asked her, smiling. 
 
 " That is a silly question, David." 
 
 " To put to you, yes, Mother!" 
 
 "Well, my darling?" 
 
 " Why can't you make Page see me with your 
 eyes ? " 
 
 " Perhaps she does." Mrs. Lee's voice was cold. 
 
 Dave answered this a little irritably. " You know 
 very well that she does not ; that in her eyes I am not 
 the most praiseworthy of mortals. Perhaps I am not, 
 but I would like to have her blinded to all my defects, 
 deceived as you are, just that she might love me one 
 hour as you do ! " 
 
 " You love her so, David ? " she inquired sharply. 
 
 " I have always loved her, mother, you know that! " 
 
 There was a momentary silence, in which the heart 
 of mother and son refused to respond, and then Dave 
 repeated : 
 
 " I have always loved her, but to-night a change has 
 come over me I want her by my side by your 
 side ; I want to bring her home." 
 
 "Why this change, David?" Her voice was still 
 sharp. 
 
 " Because she needs my protection." 
 
 " Why ? How do you know ? " 
 
 " Because she wants to escape it." 
 
 There was a pause, during which Mrs. Lee stared 
 at her son, and then he broke it rather vehemently. 
 
 " Besides, mother," he cried, " there has come over 
 me all of a sudden to-night the realization that I am
 
 50 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 no longer a boy, but a man, and when a man feels that, 
 that he is a man, he wants the responsibilities of a man 
 he wants a wife ! " He had flushed a little and 
 spoke with embarrassment but firmly. 
 
 His mother paled, but she made no reply, and pres- 
 ently he continued: "You know what my life has 
 been, mother ! You know that I have lived not in ac- 
 cordance with my ideas, but in deference to yours and 
 Uncle Ran's. Up to now, I have never allowed my- 
 self to be respectful to my own rights. My forces 
 have all been husbanded, waiting for the opportunity 
 that would satisfy both you and him. Your existence 
 with its menial occupations and Uncle Ran's sacrifices 
 in my behalf have held me, as it were, in your debt. 
 Complete sacrifice of self seemed to me to be the price 
 of my life. Naturally this has weighed upon me, but 
 you must not feel that my life has been unhappy. Far 
 from it. The world, the physical world apart from 
 humanity and humanity's efforts in it, has always been 
 to me, in spite of my dissatisfaction with myself, so 
 emphatically comforting and uplifting, that, unless I 
 fought it, I was often thrown into a kind of ecstasy 
 against my will. When I went to college, temptations 
 sprang up about me, temptations to drink and gamble, 
 many kinds of temptations to which my friends care- 
 lessly surrendered themselves, but to which I was never 
 tempted to yield. Gratifying these inclinations cost 
 money, and how could I spend money on myself when 
 you lived as you did and Uncle Ran as he did for 
 my sake. Sometimes looking back on those college 
 days, I marvel at myself. All that other men have 
 given vent to, I have never given vent to, and so 
 stored up within me are all my virtues and vices. To- 
 night, I want to make my own acquaintance. I want
 
 THE MOTHER 51 
 
 to confront everything good or bad in me and see how 
 I can use it. A recognition of self has occurred that 
 makes me eager about myself and the world and eager 
 to take a part in it. I feel that my first step is to try 
 to make Page my wife." A burning flush sprang into 
 his face. " I saw Page to-night, mother I want her 
 here!" 
 
 " That should be very simple," answered the mother 
 with a tinge of sarcasm. 
 
 " Not so simple as you imagine, mother ! " 
 
 " She should consider it an honor to be your wife! " 
 Mrs. Lee's cheeks flushed. 
 
 Dave leaned forward, took one of her hands and 
 kissed it. " Your view, mother," he said absently. 
 " If I ever win Page, it will not be until I have won 
 honors for myself I know that." 
 
 " Then she doesn't love you, David." 
 
 " I have never appeared worthy of her love. Per- 
 haps I shouldn't feel to her as I do if she had been 
 satisfied with the kind of man I have been up to the 
 present time. Page is an idealist, and that sense in her 
 must be appealed to. I have always felt myself so 
 far removed from her ideal, that I have intruded upon 
 her half apologetically. I have stifled my joy in her 
 as I have stifled my joy in existence itself. I have 
 never felt the right to it. Page's happiness," he went 
 on, " lies in creating dreams. I have always known 
 this and that her nature demands a certain kind of 
 toleration, the toleration that the higher temperament 
 always demands ; toleration of an unreal existence sur- 
 rounding the real existence and that is as necessary to 
 her as Uncle Ran's tobacco is to him ! " 
 
 " But that is absurd. Why should Page be differ- 
 ent and have erratic ideas ? "
 
 52 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 " Times have changed, mother." 
 
 " Times never change for a lady, David ! " 
 
 " Page doesn't think that way, mother, and to make 
 clear to her that she is wrong is a difficult task and one 
 that I want you to help me in. She wants to become 
 an authoress, and she considers it perfectly proper to 
 attempt in that way to make her own living. She is 
 obsessed by that idea and seems possessed of a mental 
 nausea of the poverty that she is surrounded by and 
 that has become her portion. Here," Dave took in 
 the room with his hand, " nothing offends, and so we 
 cannot realize w r hat she has suffered. These old things 
 about us, that have always been about us, have be- 
 come through age and association almost sacred ; they 
 are so much a part of you, your very spirit breathes so 
 through them that," Dave smiled, "if an angelic im- 
 age of you, a medallion, should one morning be en- 
 graved on every single thing in this house, it would 
 not surprise me. But Page, poor little orphaned waif, 
 knocked about from pillar to post, and finally landed 
 in an attic room at Mr. Bartlett's ! Can she, with her 
 fine imagination, her sensitive nature, be blamed for 
 wanting to fly away even for wanting to steal into 
 the victorious enemy's camp, if merely to behold its 
 splendor? " 
 
 " You mean her preposterous talk of going to New 
 York? " gasped Mrs. Lee. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " But, Dave, it isn't proper for Page to talk of go- 
 ing to New York." 
 
 " Of course not, mother, and that is what has aroused 
 me to-night. I've got to prevent her from going. 
 That's why I want to bring her here ! The conditions 
 of her life are enough to make her want to fly from
 
 THE MOTHER 53 
 
 thence anywhere. Neither you nor I can deny, that 
 except to the strongest of heart, the poverty and nar- 
 rowness of our social life to-day is suffocation. Even 
 though we are far better circumstanced than Page, 
 think of the circumscribed conditions and monotony of 
 your life, Uncle Ran's and my own! " 
 
 " David ! You are echoing Page's sentiments." 
 
 " Perhaps. But I tell you this, mother: there isn't 
 anything unusual that Page might want to do that I 
 couldn't understand ! " 
 
 " There is no doubt about your love for her, my 
 son," she remarked coldly. 
 
 " Don't you love her, mother? " 
 
 The two pairs of dark velvety eyes so alike, yet in 
 this moment so different, met and met fearlessly. 
 
 " I am fond of Page, David, very fond of her, and 
 I can understand your infatuation for her. She is 
 beautiful and very interesting, but she is not," and 
 Mrs. Lee's voice rose, " the girl I would choose for your 
 wife!" 
 
 "And whom would you choose, mother?" 
 
 " You wish me to answer frankly ? " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " Martha Morton," answered Mrs. Lee demurely 
 and with grave dignity. 
 
 To her surprise, Dave burst into a hearty peal of 
 laughter, and then leaning forward in his chair, he 
 took her face in his hands and looked mischievously 
 into her eyes. " Mother," he exclaimed, " you are 
 jealous of Page! You want me to marry a girl who 
 will look after my comfort, but whom you are quite 
 sure I will never love! " 
 
 Tears gushed to Mrs. Lee's eyes and rolled in 
 streams down her cheeks, and Dave, suddenly over-
 
 54 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 powered by this widowed life that had centered itself 
 upon him, sacrificed for him, worked for him, and 
 upon whom he was inflicting a keen blow, dropped 
 down in front of her and drew her into his arms pas- 
 sionately and tenderly. 
 
 For a moment she clung to him convulsively, and 
 then lifted her head and faced him. " David," she 
 cried, " this has been the hour of my life that I have 
 dreaded and put off; the hour of your serious confes- 
 sion of love, but it has come, and I am glad it is over ! 
 And " she hesitated, but for an instant only, " I find 
 that I am ready for it ! I want the last drop of hap- 
 piness that a man can know to overflow your cup! If 
 it is Page, I want you to marry Page ! " 
 
 " Of course you do, darling mother! " Dave cried, 
 clasping her again in his arms, and then he kissed her 
 gently good-night and left her. 
 
 When he reached his room, he struck a match and, 
 lighting the gas of the little burner at the end of the 
 mantel-piece, he glanced at himself in the mirror. Sud- 
 denly he started. It was as though, since he last saw 
 himself, he had been born again. He leaned forward 
 and looked keenly at his illumined, eager face. Then 
 instinctively lowering the gas, he walked to the win- 
 dow and, raising the shade, looked out on the moonlight 
 night. 
 
 How peaceful the old city was with its inhabitants 
 asleep. Somehow it comforted him to feel that they 
 were asleep, that for the hour tired hearts were rest- 
 ing, tired brains unconscious. 
 
 And how dear they all seemed to him, living alike, 
 as Page had declared, adherers to old laws and old cus- 
 toms for which any one of them would be ready to lay 
 down life.
 
 THE MOTHER 55 
 
 Finally he turned into the room, raised the light 
 again, and began to undress. As he did so the words 
 of his mother concerning Martha Morton suggested 
 an idea to him that caused him a little flutter about the 
 heart. He would use Martha Morton as a means of 
 stimulating Page's jealousy. It was a trick but a 
 harmless one, provided Martha was made acquainted 
 with his purpose. The following evening he called on 
 Martha.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE GRIM VISITOR 
 
 THE morning after Page's conversation with Dave, 
 Sadie May's continued crying of late was explained. 
 The child was ill. The night before, Mrs. Bartlett 
 said she went to bed with fever, and the doctor had 
 pronounced it scarlet fever. 
 
 All the children, the four boys, by the advice of the 
 doctor, had been sent away to Mrs. Bartlett's sister. 
 They were marched off like little soldiers, escorted by 
 a next door neighbor who had been all the morning 
 scrubbing and dressing them. Each had on his Sunday 
 suit, a big flaring tie and a ruffled collar. They were 
 as stiff, in their Sunday clothes and new shoes, as hardy 
 warriors indeed and looked to Page most pitiful. Per- 
 haps, she thought, they too were marching to death ! 
 She hoped they hadn't caught it, and oh, she prayed 
 that Sadie May wouldn't die. How could Mrs. Bart- 
 lett stand it ! 
 
 The house was painfully still, and as was the fashion 
 with this class of people, all the blinds in the front were 
 closed. A request came to her to close hers. She did 
 so and had barely a crack to see through as she sat writ- 
 ing. It was bad enough for her before, but now with 
 this impending calamity, it was unbearable. She put 
 aside her writing and went down to see the child. 
 Poor little Sadie May was scarcely recognizable; her 
 face was red and swollen but she had on her best gown 
 with lace on it and her mother called her attention to it, 
 
 56
 
 THE GRIM VISITOR 57 
 
 and brought out her new hat covered with daisies, 
 which she said, wringing her hands, she knew Sadie 
 May would never wear again. 
 
 Her grief was terrible to witness, and Page standing 
 there in the little darkened room saw all this woman's 
 hopes in life slipping away with this child, whom she 
 recognized as desperately ill. Mrs. Bartlett turned 
 excitedly to Page after the little hat had been 
 put away, and told her that not one Sunday had passed 
 over Sadie May's head when she had not been 
 dressed fit for a princess to see. Page knew she be- 
 lieved it. 
 
 The next day Sadie May grew worse and the doctor 
 gave no hope. Page was up nearly all night and 
 had been in the room most of the day. There had been 
 a continuous stream of visitors and Page marveled at 
 this strange world that had existed in Richmond un- 
 known to her people entirely out of her set, out of 
 any set, just people who seemed to spring up out of 
 the earth with hearts and tears and kindness. Mrs. 
 Bartlett was beside herself with grief. She declared 
 over and over that God had punished her for having 
 loved the child too much and her promises to the Al- 
 mighty provided Sadie May was spared to her were 
 harrowing. 
 
 Page, always analytical, marveled also at the an- 
 guish a human heart could experience over an object 
 so unimportant as little Sadie May had always seemed 
 to her. The child's father looked like a man suddenly 
 struck dumb. He just sat and stared at his wife's rav- 
 ings. In the night a terrible shriek reached Page and 
 she knew that Sadie May must be dead. She lay 
 awake a greater part of the night thinking until it 
 seemed to her finally that the world itself was but God's
 
 58 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 battlefield and that unseen soldiers slew, indiscrimi- 
 nately, even the little children. 
 
 The following day poor Sadie May was laid out in 
 a small white coffin in the parlor. The coffin was an 
 expensive one. She had on her white dress trimmed in 
 lace and pink ribbons. They put a wreath of flowers 
 on her head and three lilies in her hands. Sadie May 
 was three the day she died. Upstairs her mother was 
 sitting with one of Sadie May's little shoes in her hand. 
 She wasn't crying; they couldn't make her cry. Her 
 husband carried the shoe an hour before and put it in 
 her hands thinking it would make her cry, but it didn't. 
 It was as though she had forgotten Sadie May. 
 
 Sadie May's death made such an impression on Page, 
 and the house after the funeral seemed so desolate that 
 she decided to spend a few days at her Cousin Ed- 
 mund's, so she packed an old carpet bag and went.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE MASTER IN THE HOUSE 
 
 SHE found them in the midst of preparations, such 
 as they were with their meager means, for Emily's 
 marriage. Emily was the oldest of the children, eight 
 in number, and had recently finished her eighteenth 
 year. 
 
 Page thought Emily looked pale and her heart sank 
 as she looked into the sad, startled eyes. It was very 
 unnatural for Emily to look pale. She had always 
 been a plump girl, with cheeks like roses. She was 
 now like a pallid camelia. 
 
 The third morning after her arrival, entering her 
 Cousin Mary's room suddenly, she discovered her try- 
 ing to check her tears and embroider Emily's little wed- 
 ding petticoat at the same time. 
 
 " Cousin Mary," she asked, drawing a chair beside 
 her, " why do you allow Emily to marry Robert 
 Hughes when you know she doesn't love him and that 
 it is breaking her heart? " 
 
 " It is breaking my heart too, Page," answered the 
 mother quickly. 
 
 " Then why do you permit it? " 
 
 " It's her father, my dear." 
 
 " But it isn't right ! Emily had better try to do 
 something to support herself! " 
 
 Cousin Mary threw up her hands. " Support her- 
 self ! Why, Page, Mr. Fairfax says he would rather 
 see her begging than working. He thinks the only re- 
 
 59
 
 60 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 spectable thing for a poor girl to do is to marry. Mar- 
 riage he declares under any circumstances is better for 
 a girl than work; he thinks it disgraceful for a woman 
 to make her own living. He is shocked at you, my 
 dear, for entertaining the very thought of such a thing ! 
 He says never mind who the man is, whether he is good 
 or bad, if he is the only one, marry. Marriage is re- 
 spectable and nothing else is, nothing whatsoever, for a 
 woman ! " 
 
 " But Cousin Mary, this is terrible ; I would oppose 
 him in such notions ! " 
 
 Mrs. Fairfax's face took on a look of terror. " Op- 
 pose your Cousin Edmund, Page! Why, my dear, I 
 would as soon think of opposing God ! I've never done 
 such a thing in my life." 
 
 " And, so," said Page, a little white in the face, 
 " you're going to stand by and let Emily be sacrificed ? " 
 
 " My child, I can't help myself." 
 
 " I think it's barbarous ! " exclaimed Page. 
 
 " A man must be the ruler in his house," said 
 Cousin Mary dismally as she took up Emily's little pet- 
 ticoat. 
 
 " Cousin Mary," said Page, " there are some ideas 
 in Virginia that are abhorrent to me. Aren't we ever 
 going to change at all ? " 
 
 " To think of such a thing, Page, is almost sacrile- 
 gious." 
 
 Cousin Mary forced her gentle face into sternness. 
 " I think it's right for a woman to abide by her hus- 
 band, no matter what his views are," she said coldly. 
 " I was raised that way. Whatever Mr. Fairfax does 
 is right," and Mrs. Fairfax's lips closed firmly. 
 
 "If hearts are broken ? " demanded Page hotly. 
 
 " My child, the wind is tempered to the shorn
 
 THE MASTER IN THE HOUSE 61 
 
 lamb and Emily can always go to God for comfort! " 
 Page looked at the gentle face and tears filled her eyes. 
 At this moment her Cousin Mary was to her like a 
 dumb driven animal questioning nothing. 
 
 " Poor little thing," she said, the tears overflowing, 
 " and she has loved Fielding Peyton all her life." 
 
 " Yes," said Cousin Mary drearily, " I know she 
 has." 
 
 " Is it true Cousin Edmund denied Fielding the 
 house?" 
 
 " It is, Page, and his mother wrote Mr. Fairfax a 
 letter thanking him. She said that with herself on his 
 hands and his aunt and five sisters, Fielding couldn't 
 afford a wife. There is no hope for them, poor chil- 
 dren, and they know it. Ah! If Fielding were only 
 different; but what is he? A dreamer. What has he 
 to offer Emily? A tall graceful form, a pair of dark, 
 sorrowful, hopeless eyes, and some pieces of poetry 
 that he composes to her." 
 
 "And a heart so full of love, it would make her feel 
 a queen ! " exclaimed Page. " Fielding may be a 
 dreamer, but he works very hard too ! He follows the 
 plow all day long in the broiling sun, he hauls the wood 
 and ice in the winter and cuts the wood, ah! What 
 doesn't he do, poor fellow ! Last summer I was visit- 
 ing there ; he came out of that scorching sun to where I 
 was, under a tree, and, leaning on the fence, talked to 
 me. I have never gotten over it. Oh ! I wish he had 
 not talked to me. I can't get it out of my head. He 
 told me what he felt capable of and what he had to do, 
 and that he knew Emily was lost to him. The day, 
 Cousin Mary, even in the shade of the tree, was hot. I 
 looked on the scorching field and at the old mule that 
 was hitched to the plow, and I told him I didn't see how
 
 62 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 he could stand it. His only answer was to point to the 
 house where all those eight women were." 
 
 " Mother," at this moment cried one of the children, 
 putting his head in the door, " the sugar's here for the 
 candy pulling." 
 
 " Go and help them fix things, will you, Page ? I 
 forgot to tell you that Emily is having a little party to- 
 night to say good-by to her friends. She wanted to 
 have something and a sugar stew was the cheapest. If 
 David Lee comes be nice to him, my dear. Dave can 
 support you; there is no reason why you two should 
 not marry." 
 
 Page flushed. " Cousin Mary, why does everyone 
 say that to me?" she asked impatiently. "Why is 
 everyone trying to force me to marry Dave ? " 
 
 " Because, my dear, David loves you and because he 
 is the most promising young man in Richmond. Mr. 
 Fairfax says so."
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 CONFLICTING EMOTIONS 
 
 THE day was spent in arranging for the party. 
 Once, while Page and Emily were piling the apples in 
 the silver baskets, Emily turned impulsively, clasped 
 Page in her arms, and burst into tears. 
 
 " Page," she cried, " darling Cousin Page ; they are 
 forcing me into it, and I wish I were dead ! " 
 
 " Then why do you, Emily? " 
 
 " What can I do? " Emily cried. " And I want to 
 I want to ! Everybody will be comfortable, father 
 can have what he wants on the table, you know how 
 hard it is for him to do without things, and I do want 
 to, I could die for father and mother and the boys, but 
 oh ! why can't it be a quick death ; why can't I be shot 
 for them as our soldiers were for us; why can't I be 
 burned at the stake that would be quickly over ; but 
 oh ! my God, Page, this living death ! " 
 
 " Do you hate him so, Emily ? " 
 
 " No, no, I don't hate him ; he is so good, so kind, 
 such a splendid man! I don't hate him, but when I 
 think of his touch, that he can lay his hands on my 
 shoulders the other day he did and for the first time 
 he asked me to let him kiss me, and I shrieked and ran 
 out of the room. Poor fellow. Poor fellow!" 
 
 She buried her face in her hands and stood sobbing. 
 And between her sobs Page heard her murmuring, 
 " Fieldy, Fieldy ! Oh, Fieldy, my love ! " 
 
 At night quite a gay party were assembled, gay be- 
 
 63
 
 64 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 cause they were young. They put the chairs and tables 
 aside and danced, while Cousin Mary played on the old 
 piano, waltzes and polkas that she had learned when a 
 girl. 
 
 Dave arrived late, and, to Page's astonishment and 
 quick indignation, he was escorting Martha Morton. 
 
 Martha looked quite pretty, unusually so, in a pink 
 tarletan with a wreath of natural pinks on her dark 
 hair and returned Page's greeting in an off-hand, su- 
 perior manner. Someone had told Page that Dave had 
 been seeing a good deal of Martha lately, that the Sun- 
 day before he had walked home from church with her 
 and that Mrs. Lee had invited her to tea several times. 
 Certainly this evening Dave seemed quite engrossed 
 with Martha and once when he stood at the foot of the 
 stairs talking to her in almost a tender manner, Page, 
 who happened to be descending, paused and gazed at 
 him. She noted with sudden vision his clear, rich 
 complexion, his flashing eyes, the live, glistening hair, 
 the sensitive temples, the scarlet, determined mouth 
 and the strong white teeth. Dave had always possessed 
 these physical advantages, but it seemed to her that 
 added to them was a certain intense vitality, a new 
 strength and the manner and bearing of a victor. She 
 had noticed also that his arrival with Martha had 
 caused quite a stir among the guests and had overheard 
 comments concerning his attentions to her. Everyone 
 had been surprised to see him escorting Martha and 
 furtive glances had been directed to Page that irritated 
 her. 
 
 Once, rather late in the evening, when she stepped 
 out on the porch, he followed her. While he did not 
 approach her and only stood on the other side of the 
 porch looking out, a feeling of rest came over her.
 
 CONFLICTING EMOTIONS 65 
 
 She always had that languorous, restful feeling when 
 Dave was near, and suddenly it seemed to her that it 
 would be maddeningly sweet to live all her life in that 
 graceful, magnetic presence. That Dave could ever 
 think of another girl as his wife had never before oc- 
 curred to her. She was so used to his devotion, and to 
 having his name coupled with hers that this introduc- 
 tion of Martha between them was received as an 
 affront. 
 
 She took a step in advance to speak to him, to take 
 her place by his side and assume her right to question 
 him concerning his pronounced attentions to Martha, 
 but there came over her the feeling that if she made 
 such an advance to him, he would demand seriousness 
 of her and a decision as to their future. Was she pre- 
 pared to face this? Suddenly, as something entirely 
 apart from Dave, the old house, \vhere she would have 
 to live, came up. She saw the walls of the different 
 rooms with their gloomy, faded paper, these walls that 
 closed in Dave, Uncle Randolph chewing tobacco and 
 reading law, and Mrs. Lee always stoically performing 
 her duties. It repelled her and sent a little chill down 
 her spine. Even the prayer books she recalled were 
 always on the same table just where they had been all 
 her life and Mrs. Lee continued to read a chapter in 
 the Bible every morning after breakfast and have fam- 
 ily prayers. Page remembered how nervous those 
 prayers used to make her during her visits there when a 
 child, especially the days when the Litany was said. 
 Dave, yes, but his environment and all that went with 
 Dave! She was again attacked by madness for free- 
 dom and the opportunity to revel in herself. 
 
 Finally Dave turned and walked over to her, and, as 
 he did so, Emily rushed out breathless. Her face was
 
 66 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 white with terror and lit up with a frantic passion. 
 
 " Page," she cried, catching her hand in a sharp 
 clasp, " stand guard for me watch for me ! " 
 
 " Emily, what is it what are you going to do? " 
 
 The girl gave a startled look first at Dave, then at 
 her, and lowered her voice to a whisper. " Fielding 
 is at the gate. He has been walking up and down the 
 sidewalk for an hour. I am going out to him going 
 to speak to him I must I'm going to say good-by 
 watch for me watch father ! " 
 
 Before Page could speak the little white-robed figure 
 had broken away and was flying like lightning down 
 the steps, and through the short path. A moment later 
 they heard her broken, smothered sobs and knew that 
 her lover had her on his breast. 
 
 " Poor little thing," said Dave in a broken voice. 
 
 " It's a shame," Page cried, " and I hate Cousin 
 Edmund for it. They are laying her upon the altar 
 as a living sacrifice. And all over Virginia these 
 tragedies are going on ! " 
 
 " They are the result of war," said Dave absently 
 and sadly. 
 
 " And of women surrendering too easily Emily 
 ought to run away with Fielding." 
 
 " You wouldn't run away with me," said Dave 
 fiercely as he laid a hand on her shoulder. 
 
 " No," answered Page who was in an overwrought 
 condition, first through her jealousy and then through 
 Emily, " but I suppose Martha Morton would ! " 
 
 " Do you? " asked Dave, feigning eagerness. 
 
 " Do you? " she flashed. 
 
 Dave had seen his advantage and made no reply, 
 fastening upon her brain a silence fraught with mean- 
 ing.
 
 CONFLICTING EMOTIONS 67 
 
 They remained thus quite a while until Emily ap- 
 peared at the foot of the steps like a corpse. Seeing 
 that she was scarcely able to mount the steps, and was 
 holding out her hands for help, Page ran down to her 
 assistance.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 NEGRO HEROISM 
 
 THE next morning Page felt so oppressed that she 
 almost wished she could return home before breakfast. 
 She dressed herself quietly, however, and descended 
 to the dining-room. 
 
 The family was already assembled at the table and 
 the sight of Cousin Edmund's round back, a little bent, 
 and his bald head, that faced her, as she entered the 
 door, overcame her, she knew not why, with tender- 
 ness. She went up as usual and kissed him before 
 taking her seat. She glanced at her Cousin Mary, 
 who looked like a statue in its accustomed niche, and 
 saw the tremulousness of the thin fingers as they 
 passed her cup to her. Page wanted to grasp the 
 hand and cover it with tears and kisses, but felt that 
 she must restrain herself. 
 
 Emily was seated at her left and her eyes had 
 grown tragic. Looking into them Page could read 
 in their startled depths that, come what would, this 
 child would love, honor, and obey her parents. She 
 felt her knees tremble and wanted to get down on 
 them before this broken-hearted young creature, this 
 being obeying blindly what she had been taught was 
 right, who would die kissing the hand that had stabbed 
 her, and was leading her into humiliation, because 
 that hand was her father's. The pathos of it appalled 
 Page and she had a stronger feeling than ever that 
 there were things that must pass away. 
 
 68
 
 NEGRO HEROISM 69 
 
 After breakfast she packed her old carpet bag and 
 left. 
 
 When she reached the street, she breathed freer. 
 The glory of the day struck her full in the face, and 
 she took in great breaths of air like a liberated pris- 
 oner. She realized that for days she had been under 
 the pressure of emotions that were stifling her as they 
 were stifling the entire family her Cousin Edmund 
 included. As he rose before her, growing old under 
 the burdens that had been bearing him down for twenty 
 years, and that he was about to sacrifice his child to 
 be relieved of, her throat swelled, a lump rose in it, 
 and tears gushed to her eyes. 
 
 She remembered him, and must ever remember him, 
 as he was when she was a little girl, merry, genial, and 
 jovial. She remembered how the children always ran 
 to meet him, how he tossed the little ones in the air 
 or let them " ride horse," on his foot in their little 
 nightgowns before they went to bed. And how 
 charmingly he entertained at his table, and ah ! yes, 
 how he danced at the parties, bowing so graciously 
 to the ladies, and even cutting the " pigeon wing " 
 when it came his time to " forward two " and, now! 
 Why Cousin Edmund was almost an old man; she 
 recognized it for the first time that morning when 
 she entered the dining-room and was so overcome 
 with tenderness at the sight of his bowed shoulders 
 and bald head. 
 
 Such a sharp pain clutched at her heart that in- 
 voluntarily she put her hand over it. She felt the 
 desire to strike a terrific blow at something that would 
 save things, her Cousin Edmund included, and sud- 
 denly she felt doubly inspired to save herself. She 
 felt that to stand by the old, the rotting, the hopeless,
 
 70 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 the finished, was madness that amounted to crime. 
 Her pace was rapid, her breath came quickly, and her 
 whole body felt as though she were being stung by 
 innumerable insects that she could not fight off. 
 
 She was entering the front door, when Mrs. Bartlett 
 ran out to meet her. 
 
 " Miss Page," she whispered, " Aunt Martha is up 
 in your room, and I think she has been drinking." 
 
 Page nodded a comprehensive reply and mounted 
 the stairs quickly. As she entered the door the tall, 
 gaunt form of an old negress was outlined against 
 the black mantel-piece. When she saw Page, her face 
 lit up for a moment, and then her strident voice rang 
 out: 
 
 " Lord, Lord ! Miss Page, what do you think done 
 happen? Dey done put Sam in de prison again 
 oh ! My Gaud, honey ! What I guine to do? " 
 
 It was plain to see that Mrs. Bartlett was right 
 Aunt Martha had been drinking. She was a tall, 
 aristocratic old lady, with ginger-bread skin, who used 
 to be seamstress and general directress in Uncle Ran- 
 dolph's household during his mother's lifetime. 
 
 She was possessed of high character and integrity, 
 and could be trusted with anything, including the care 
 of your soul, except the whisky bottle. It seemed that 
 she always had the failing, but, as it never interfered 
 with her work or deportment, it was overlooked. 
 Uncle Randolph used to tell his mother to look out, 
 that Martha was on her " high horse," but Mrs. Har- 
 rison never admitted it because life without Martha 
 as a kind of vice-president in the establishment ; to be 
 on hand for consultation for every event, from the 
 giving of a ball to the whipping of the children few 
 children escaped whipping in Mrs. Harrison's day
 
 NEGRO HEROISM 71 
 
 would have been impossible to her, or she thought so. 
 
 Poor old creature, times had changed for her and 
 her little indulgences had become more frequent. She 
 was not the only one who had succumbed to the habit 
 in the last fifteen years. Life with her was hard, 
 hard indeed, and God had seen fit lo curse her with a 
 bad son. 
 
 This Sam, almost a giant in stature and black as the 
 ace of spades, had become a petty thief, and his poor 
 old mother's honest heart was bursting with shame. 
 There was a dusky red in her brown cheeks not pro- 
 duced by the whisky alone. Of late years, Mrs. Lee 
 had not felt that she could afford a seamstress, and 
 Aunt Martha had been living with her son and going 
 out to do sewing by the day. 
 
 "Oh, not the penitentiary again, Aunt Martha?" 
 Page exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes, honey, and he ain't been out six months. 
 And all de gemmens what hep me ter git his pardon, 
 how I guine face 'em?" 
 
 " Oh, well, you needn't, Aunt Martha; I'd just stay 
 away." 
 
 "An' who guine to 'sport me?" The old face 
 paled. " Who guine gib me my bread and meat and 
 keep the roof over me ? Who ? " 
 
 Page couldn't answer. 
 
 " I too ole to work, my eye-sight done give out, so 
 I kyarnt see ter do fine sewing, and besides, nobody 
 got fine sewing. 'Tain't nobody got fine sewing 'cepen 
 de pore white trash, en Gaud knows I ain guine work 
 fur dem Gaud knows I ain't ! " 
 
 And Aunt Martha, who had dropped into a chair, 
 rose excitedly to her feet. Her form towered up 
 straight as an arrow, she was neat and clean from the
 
 72 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 head-handkerchief to the white apron that covered 
 her faded calico dress and reached nearly to her feet. 
 She was a representative of the respectable colored peo- 
 ple, who, under slavery, felt themselves superior to 
 the ordinary whites. The poorhouse, yes, she could 
 see visions of it, but she could no more, at this day, 
 no matter what she might have come to, work for the 
 " poor white trash " than she could have, Elijah-like, 
 flown to heaven. Her pride had been dealt a severe 
 blow; her child, the child of her body, her own son, 
 a great wicked Hercules, in whom her pride centered, 
 had disgraced her. She could not mend matters by 
 thus falling herself. 
 
 Her suffering as she stood there facing Page in her 
 little room, was acute; this big creature that she had 
 borne was a thief, but he was good to her; except when 
 he was serving his terms in the penitentiary, she had 
 never known actual want. And she loved him, this 
 big, burly Sam, this hard-working thief she loved 
 him! Page did a very weak thing. She always did 
 weak things when people were suffering. She put her 
 hand in her little purse and took out a quarter. 
 " Here, Aunt Martha, go get yourself a little whisky, 
 you're so unstrung," she said. 
 
 However, when she saw the eager light that flamed 
 up in the old eyes, the light of the lover of drink, who 
 sees it within grasp, she felt alarmed. She always 
 felt alarmed when she knew that what she deliberately 
 did was wrong, and she saw a glimmer of the result. 
 
 " Lord, chile, you ain't got no money to gib me," 
 Aunt Martha said with a faint smile as she took the 
 quarter. 
 
 Relieved though, her whole being had relaxed, and 
 she sat down prepared to tell her story. She came
 
 NEGRO HEROISM 73 
 
 for that quarter, and she came for it to get whisky. 
 She had done it before, and Page's aunt had scolded 
 her many times for giving it to her. 
 
 As Page sat and looked at her she tried to an- 
 alyze the harm. She couldn't see much. Here was 
 a poor soul, a victim like herself of a cruel, bitter fate, 
 possibly uncertain of the roof over her head, cer- 
 tainly with scant food and a pride inculcated in her by 
 circumstances for which she was in no way responsible, 
 that prevented her from bettering herself and getting 
 along. Suppose she did try to forget things ! 
 
 " Lord, honey, what do you think your ma and 
 gram 'ma would say if she knew what we done come 
 to? " she said, looking at Page wistfully. 
 
 " I don't know, Aunt Martha, I often wonder," said 
 Page. 
 
 " It's many a night I lays thar in my hard bed and 
 looks out at de stars and thanks Gaud Mars Ran's 
 father and mother, my old marster and mistiss, is safe 
 behind'm on Jesus' breast many er night ! What we 
 do, Miss Page, if it want for de Lord Jesus Christ? 
 What I do ter-day \vith Sam out dar," her voice broke, 
 " in that awful den, if I didn't know Jesus was stand- 
 ing by my side? He right here, Miss Page; his hand 
 is raised over my head, en I can hear him saying, 
 * Martha, de Lord is wid you, abide in de Lord.' ' 
 She dropped down in her seat again and Page went 
 up and put her hand on her shoulder. 
 
 " How else," she continued, looking at Page, her 
 old dim eyes filled with tears, " how else could I stand 
 my chile being dar, Miss Page? " 
 
 She buried her face in her hands and wept convul- 
 sively for a few moments, and then drying her tears 
 in a corner of her apron, she went on excitedly, " But
 
 74 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 Jesus wid us! He wid him, en He guine wash him 
 white as snow. Honey, does you pray," she asked 
 suddenly, " does you say your prayers regular ? Does 
 you say, ' Now I lay me,' and ' Our Father who art 
 in Heaven?'" 
 
 "Oh, yes, Aunt Martha!" 
 
 " Dat right, chile." 
 
 " What is it," Page asked timidly, after a long 
 pause, " that Sam has done this time ? " 
 
 " Jess a little pig iron, honey. He took it from 
 where dem Yankees building dat new foundry en sold 
 it for fifty cents, en he bought some meal, en bacon, 
 en a little sugar and coffee, en fetched em home to me. 
 Dey dar now I kyarn't eat'm. I kyarn't touch'm ! 
 What you reckon made him steal dem little things, 
 Miss Page? Sam ain't er bad man! " 
 
 " Oh ! Aunt Martha," answered Page desperately, 
 " I don't know. But you wait here, you look so tired. 
 I'm going down and get Mrs. Bartlett to cook some- 
 thing for you; you must have something to eat before 
 you go home." 
 
 " Naw, naw, 'tain't no use putting her to all dat 
 trouble. I'll be goin' now." She arose and put on a 
 faded but spotlessly clean sun-bonnet, made in the old 
 style with pasteboard slats in it. Page knew she 
 wanted to go for the whisky, but she didn't care 
 not in the least. She hoped she would get it quickly, 
 if only it would ease the sad pain in her heart. How 
 could she care? She did another weak thing. She 
 said, " Aunt Martha, I would eat those things out there 
 at your room. It can't hurt anybody; it can't hurt 
 Sam; he's paid for his sin; and it can't hurt God." 
 
 " It ken hurt me, honey," said this simple courage- 
 ous soul. Page rebuked said good-by to her ; told
 
 NEGRO HEROISM 75 
 
 her to come again, and listened to her footsteps as she 
 descended the stairs, thinking in her heart that she, too, 
 this poor old colored woman, was one of the South's 
 blighted flowers. She thought a long while of all the 
 sorrow and misery that seemed to be upon her people, 
 white and black, and in this moment each seemed 
 equally dear to her. 
 
 Finally she heard steps on the stairs. Fixing her 
 eyes upon the doorway, she was a moment later con- 
 fronted by Cousin Betty. 
 
 " My gracious ! " said that energetic lady, entering 
 a little flushed and excited, " I've been trying to get 
 here the entire morning. Everybody I met stopped 
 me, and I stopped myself to go by and speak to poor 
 Harriet Burwell. Did you know they were being 
 sold out?" 
 
 " No ! " gasped Page. 
 
 " Yes," said Cousin Betty, laying a roll of music 
 and a small reticule on the bed and taking Page's little 
 rocker, " and it all comes of Harriet being what she 
 has always been, a silly woman ! " 
 
 " But so dainty and sweet," answered Page. 
 
 " Dainty and sweet," replied Cousin Betty, " we 
 can't afford to be dainty and sweet nowadays, and 
 Harriet hasn't had the courage to give up living ex- 
 travagantly just as she did before the war. I have 
 been seeing the end for three years. Why, they have 
 entertained more people there in a year than Mrs. Steb- 
 bins has at her boarding-house ! " 
 
 " I know it," Page replied. " I never have been 
 there that I didn't find a house full ! " 
 
 "And what has it come to?" demanded Cousin 
 Betty, " open house, elaborate table, and supporting 
 two or three families of negroes! "
 
 76 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 " Poor little Mrs. Burwell ! " exclaimed Page. " But 
 who isn't in trouble? Aunt Martha Washington has 
 just been to see me. Sam's been stealing again! " 
 
 " You don't say ! I do pity her and I certainly do 
 pity poor Harriet, but I have never had any toleration 
 of her extravagance. The idea of saying that it would 
 kill her to ever put on anything but silk stockings and 
 satin slippers ! Haven't you heard her say that ? " 
 
 " Yes, I have," Page admitted, smiling. 
 
 " Well," said Cousin Betty, " the end has come. 
 Every blessed thing on earth they had, including her 
 bridal chamber set, has gone to the auction. I'll never 
 forget her standing on that porch in a pair of those 
 self-same satin slippers, with a japonica in her hair, 
 watching each piece put in the wagon. What on earth 
 the poor child is going to do without a home to be at 
 the head of, I don't know. But it's a good thing. 
 Why, those poor people have been eaten out of house 
 and home, and nothing could end it but not having a 
 roof. Harriet can't help inviting people. They're 
 going to the Exchange Hotel, you know! What do 
 you suppose she did as I was leaving? " 
 
 "What? "asked Page. 
 
 " Invited me to come to tea this evening! " Cousin 
 Betty laughed. 
 
 " I hope you are not going," exclaimed Page. 
 
 "Of course, I'm going," laughed Cousin Betty, " I 
 haven't had supper in a hotel since I was at the White 
 Sulphur Springs, heaven knows how many years ago. 
 How is Mrs. Bartlett standing Sadie May's death? " 
 
 " Very poorly," answered Page, suddenly grave, 
 " she seems even more depressed as the days go by." 
 
 " Well, she is a good little soul, and I am very sorry 
 for her, but good people are often a little trying, too,"
 
 NEGRO HEROISM 77 
 
 Cousin Betty went on. " Now she ought to cheer up 
 and not always be making that poor husband, whom 
 she keeps right under her thumb, feel like he was at his 
 own funeral. I'm going to tell her so. Why, I met 
 the poor man on the street and he looks worn out; 
 she's wearing him to a frazzle. Sadie May, and 
 Heaven knows how she ever felt as she did about the 
 poor little thing, is dead, and not worth worrying the 
 poor father to death about. I tell you, Page, the 
 longer I live, the more I wonder at women, and es- 
 pecially at married women. It's nothing nowadays 
 but bickering and nagging. I suppose it isn't their 
 fault, but the way things are what everybody has 
 come to. Before the war, I never heard a word be- 
 tween a man and his wife. It was all a bed of roses. 
 It's all a bed of thorns now, my dear, and no wonder 
 the poor creatures cry out and fret. I've got two 
 more music lessons to give to-day," she went on; 
 " think of it, sitting there a whole hour with children 
 that have about as much talent for music as door 
 knobs. I'd like to crack their skulls," she laughed. 
 
 " And you'll just be patient with them ! " Page ex- 
 claimed. " Do you think / could tramp about as you 
 do giving music lessons, and always being bright and 
 kind and tolerant? I just couldn't the tide goes 
 with you, it goes against me." 
 
 " The tide doesn't go with me, my dear, I follow 
 the tide," she replied. " Now, for example, the other 
 night at old Colonel Thompson's, I was singing for 
 them. As usual, Cousin Amanda would have the 
 ' Irish Emigrant's Lament/ and so of course, while I 
 am tired to death of the old thing, I sang it. I always 
 do my best for Cousin Amanda, dear old soul ; a bet- 
 ter woman never lived on earth, and when I came
 
 78 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 to the ' oo ! oh ! ooh ! oooh ! ' I put in it as much pathos 
 as I could. Well, somehow it struck everybody pres- 
 ent, except Cousin Amanda, as funny. Perhaps it 
 was, all that wailing, and the entire company was 
 simply, in spite of Cousin Amanda shaking her head 
 at everybody in turn, exploding behind their hands 
 with laughter one of the children was rolling on the 
 floor. Now you don't suppose I got mad; not a bit 
 of it ! I turned it into the * Wooden Leg ' and let 
 them laugh all they could when ' tra-ra-ra ' came. 
 That's the way, Page, my dear, we've got to do, turn 
 with the tide. There are not many tragedies except 
 war and disgrace that you can't turn into comedies, 
 and since we have a store of tragedies on hand and 
 very few comedies, we've got to make a few. It 
 keeps people up." 
 
 " Cousin Betty, you are so brave," exclaimed Page. 
 " Did you ever hurt anyone's feelings in your life? " 
 
 " I don't know, my child, I hope not. I don't de- 
 serve any credit for it, though, because apart from in- 
 flicting pain, it never seemed sensible. We've got to be 
 sensible, my dear; we can't afford to be anything else, 
 and especially these times. If a person has three 
 faults and one good point, I always like to harp on the 
 good point; it has served me many a little turn. 
 Now to-day I'm going to harp on Mrs. Bartlett's cook- 
 ing. To tell the truth, I like her hot biscuits. I'm 
 going down and sing the ' Irish Mother's Lament ' 
 for her, and when she gets through her tears and has 
 a good laugh, she will make some, and you must come 
 down. I've got a little tea in here," touching her 
 reticule, " Mr. Christian gave me to try, and this is 
 as good a place as any to try it. These poor whites 
 can cook ! " she concluded with a wink.
 
 NEGRO HEROISM 79 
 
 She left, and Page sat thinking of her, wonderful 
 woman, wonderful type of womanhood, true as steel, 
 generous, warm-hearted, and loving, but shrewd and 
 smart, with a merry and lofty contempt for the world. 
 Presently her voice reached her wailing forth the 
 " Irish Mother's Lament," as did also the sobs of Mrs. 
 Bartlett, who \vas sitting outside the little parlor door 
 on the steps. Mrs. Bartlett had said to her not less 
 than a dozen times during the past week, if only she 
 could have a good cry! Well, she was having it and 
 Sadie May, poor little Sadie May, was none the worse 
 for it if it was a relief, and they were going to have 
 those fine, big, fat biscuits, that Mrs. Bartlett made to 
 perfection buttermilk biscuits ! she could almost 
 smell them cooking. 
 
 She got up, walked over to the window and looked 
 out, and to her delight she saw her Aunt Constance 
 approaching. 
 
 Page was glad of this because she could induce 
 her to go down and partake of Mrs. Bartlett's biscuits. 
 It would require inducing, for her Aunt Constance 
 couldn't understand how Cousin Betty could affiliate 
 with people of Mrs. Bartlett's kind; but wherever 
 Cousin Betty was everything became agreeable, and so, 
 with some demurring, she finally agreed. 
 
 When the lunch was over, and they had returned to 
 Page's room, Cousin Betty broached the subject of the 
 trip which was hailed by Page with delight. 
 
 Before they separated, it was arranged that they 
 take the boat on the following Wednesday. Cousin 
 Betty whispered to Aunt Constance that she had seen 
 Dave the evening before.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE HISTORIC JAMES 
 
 THE boat they had to take to reach the old James 
 River plantation of Fielding Peyton left at five o'clock 
 in the morning, so at four they were up, three sleepy 
 females dressing by the gaslight. Page was thinking 
 that if she lived to be a thousand years old, she would 
 always be able to recall vividly how she felt on those 
 mornings when she had to get up to take that early 
 boat, and the visions of the people rushing to catch it. 
 
 Nobody in Richmond at that time went to train or 
 boat except in a hack. They wouldn't have felt other- 
 wise that they were going on a trip, and certainly 
 they would have felt embarrassed if a friend had 
 caught them arriving on foot. Except at a funeral, 
 it was the only time many of them ever got the chance 
 to ride, and Page had known several ladies who had 
 never gotten over being deprived of their carriages, 
 who looked forward to these trips to the boat or grave 
 on account of the hack rides. There wasn't imagina- 
 ble, anything much more delightful than these big, 
 roomy old hacks, with two dear old horses, that just 
 as surely had interesting histories as the old darkey 
 who drove them. 
 
 There were two occasions when these old darkeys 
 whipped up their horses and gave people a good ride 
 when they were bringing them from a funeral or 
 carrying them to a boat. Somehow for the latter 
 event everybody was always a bit late, or thought 
 
 80
 
 THE HISTORIC JAMES 81 
 
 they were, and quite an excitement ensued. The old 
 driver snapped his whip and talked to his horses down 
 the last hill; returning drivers shook their heads and 
 called out, " You never will kotch it," and at times the 
 excitement grew quite intense. " Oh ! Do hurry ! " 
 was cried out to the driver over and over to get in re- 
 turn, " I been kotchin' dat boat for twenty years, en 
 I ain never miss it ! " or some such expression as they 
 went flying down the rocky hills, up others, and then 
 down again with the fresh morning air in their nos- 
 trils, the rising sun in a pink hazy sky in their eyes, 
 and vehicles passing or dropping behind. Once at the 
 wharf they knew a dozen people who had all, like them- 
 selves, been rushing, and handshaking, and laughter 
 followed as they marched aboard. Each one asked 
 where he or she was going, and the cabin maid spoke 
 to everybody and told the James River news. 
 
 It was arranged that Cousin Betty should engage 
 the hack and "go by " for the other two. 
 
 Page was just burning her mouth with the coffee 
 that Mrs. Bartlett would get up and make for her, when 
 the rattle of wheels, and Cousin Betty's voice calling 
 " Page ! Page ! " were heard. She put her head out of 
 the window and called back brightly, " I am coming," 
 and as she did so there was impressed on her mind, 
 for life, the old hack all thrown open, Martin upon the 
 box, and inside the two maiden ladies so different and 
 yet in many respects alike. Two sweet flowers, sacred 
 flowers, that bloomed in gorgeous gardens before the 
 war, just as poor old Aunt Martha had, two flowers 
 unequal to all the hardships they were bearing, ah, 
 how unequal, but courageous and brave, and when it 
 was possible, merry. She ran hurriedly down and 
 kissed them both, called out " how-de do " to Uncle
 
 82 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 Martin, whom she had known ever since she was born, 
 and off they started. 
 
 " Now, Martin," called Cousin Betty, " whip up 
 those old rattle bones of yours ! " 
 
 " Dese here good horses, Miss Betty," he returned, 
 " dey ain't no rattle bones." 
 
 " Well, we'll know what kind of horses you have if 
 you catch that boat ! " cried Cousin Betty with a joy- 
 ous laugh. 
 
 " You ain't got to stop nowhar else, is you ? " asked 
 Martin over his shoulders. 
 
 " No, Miss Page was the last ! " 
 
 " Well, den, dat boat good as kotched." 
 
 They dropped into other topics, and how they en- 
 joyed that drive and the racing at the end, the arriving 
 and the meetings, and the starting and, last but not 
 least, the boat breakfast. Mrs. Bartlett had fixed up 
 a basket for Page and her aunt had her beaten biscuits 
 with thin slices of ham that somebody had fixed for 
 her, but Cousin Betty declared she intended, if it took 
 her last cent, to have them all eat at the table with the 
 Captain. They did, and the joking and bursts of 
 laughter between her and the Captain entertained and 
 enlivened the entire dining-room. When they finished 
 the merry breakfast and left to go on deck, the sweet- 
 est pink color had come into Aunt Constance's cheeks, 
 and Page put her arm about her, as they went up the 
 steps, and squeezed her. 
 
 The trip down the James River is famous for its 
 beauty. It is justly so and more it is uniquely in- 
 teresting. At every landing there are people who 
 know each other and call from wharf to boat, some 
 running aboard for a chat while the boat unloads her 
 merchandise and, when she blows her whistle and
 
 THE HISTORIC JAMES 83 
 
 starts on her way, there is waving and kissing of hands. 
 
 The stopping of the boats at the landings was the 
 great event of the day to the country people. Oh, 
 how poor and almost ragged the men looked in this 
 year of 1886, standing there with sunburned, patrician 
 faces and ofttimes hopeless expressions. Many wore 
 worn shoes, many had on trousers that the rain had 
 shrunk up or coats that the sun had changed the color 
 of. But they lifted their hats, ofttimes, such hats! 
 like true cavaliers and their voices had the true 
 ring. No one was judged by his clothes. It didn't 
 make the least difference in this blighted kingdom, 
 where every man was a brother ! The girls all looked 
 sweet in their lawns and percales and calicos, and if 
 a shoe was much worn, there was a ribbon around the 
 waist and a smile on a beautiful mouth. 
 
 They landed at the wharf at one o'clock, and there 
 was the old carriage, they knew so well, to meet them. 
 This old carriage had been in the family since long be- 
 fore the war, and grand, for the time being, was the 
 one who rode in it, at any rate one felt that way. 
 
 It did not seem to Page as she stepped into it that 
 there ever had been a time when this carriage had not 
 been, or that there ever could be a time when it would 
 not be. It was as much a part of the world to her as 
 the road it traveled. 
 
 Large and imposing it stood and also condescending 
 and a criticism would no more be passed upon it than 
 upon some old and honored member of the family. 
 The seats were covered in pearl colored broadcloth, 
 and the back and sides were upholstered in white dam- 
 ask satin. Black mohair issued from the seats and 
 the white satin hung in strips, but the old windows 
 were intact and could still be let up or down. The
 
 84 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 top, also upholstered in white damask, was in a pretty 
 good state of preservation, even to the broadcloth 
 buttons, and maintained its dignity. It did one good 
 to look up at it from the raggedness once in a while. 
 
 Hitched to this imposing vehicle was an old bay 
 horse and a mule. How the harness held together was 
 a mystery, but much of it was explained by ropes that 
 could be observed here and there, and one of the reins 
 was a rope. It is quite safe to say that no prouder 
 driver than Alex Black ever stood beside a team. 
 Alex was dressed for the occasion. Alex always 
 dressed up, when he drove the carriage, in a pair of 
 very light trousers belonging to someone generations 
 ago, an old swallow-tailed coat and a white beaver. 
 
 They all shook hands with Alex, who said, " Sarv- 
 ant, Mistiss," to each one of them, and grinned de- 
 lightedly. They learned from him, as they started 
 off, that Mr. Fielding wasn't so well, " been having 
 chills," Miss Phoebe " right poo'ly," but all the rest 
 were " right sprightly." 
 
 " Your roads haven't improved any, Alex," said 
 Cousin Betty as they went down into a hole that 
 nearly upset them. 
 
 " Nor'm, folks ain't got no time to see 'bout roads." 
 
 " Well, when that one gets as deep as a well, Alex, 
 what will you all do? " 
 
 " Jess drive round it," said Alex stolidly. 
 
 All laughed merrily at this, and Cousin Betty sug- 
 gested that Alex inaugurate the " driving round " at 
 the next hole they came to, but was informed by him 
 he " wan't never much as a starter of things." Alex 
 was a true Virginian. 
 
 They arrived after a pleasant drive through the 
 pines and found the whole family on the porch to meet 
 them.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 DISINTEGRATION 
 
 PAGE was always more or less overpowered by the 
 first appearance of this grim army of eight women who 
 occupied the old home as prisoners with Fielding at 
 their head as a patient and kind jailer. 
 
 At present, with the exception of Nina, the youngest 
 girl, an exotic in their midst, the entire family was in 
 mourning for a dead uncle, an old remnant of the 
 war, whom they had not seen for years, and who died 
 in the Soldiers' Home, but who was nevertheless en- 
 titled to this respect, which involved expense and much 
 labor. It was a part of the old life and must be 
 obeyed, and was. 
 
 The sight of the helpless, overfed, round mother, 
 the anaemic aunt, who never allowed herself a suf- 
 ficient amount of food, and always chose the wing of 
 the chicken as a matter of delicacy, the five tall, gaunt 
 sisters, all in solemn black, sent a shudder through 
 Page, that was partly dispelled, however, by the gay 
 appearance of Nina, who lived among these grewsome 
 souls like a canary bird. She rejoiced in color and 
 sang at the top of her voice. 
 
 The home of these eight women, supported by Field- 
 ing, who tilled the earth almost night and day to keep 
 bread in their mouths and shoes and raiment on their 
 bodies, was one of Colonial grandeur, and year after 
 year as Page visited there and noted the changes time 
 
 85
 
 86 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 made in the faces and bearing of the inmates, she 
 noted also the changes in the old home. 
 
 They were indescribable in a way, and yet they 
 were there, and to-day a momentary sadness swept 
 over her. Just as indefinable deterioration was going 
 on in the family, in the fat mother, the anaemic aunt, 
 and five tall sisters, so it was going on in the old home 
 standing just as they, proud and imposing, helpless 
 against fate. She felt that this old home was a part 
 of the universal changes that were going on in Vir- 
 ginia, a part of the sacred old, slipping away never to 
 return. Fifty years from now would there be such 
 women as her Aunt Constance, Cousin Betty, and their 
 hostess, these products of a poetic period surely pass- 
 ing away, and would there exist just such a home as 
 this one? 
 
 She felt with a wave of tenderness there would not. 
 Over all their present hung a dark cloud and in that 
 cloud, in letters of fire that seemed to burn into her 
 brain, was the word " change." Nothing that was to- 
 day would be, the very atmosphere of Virginia was 
 dissolving like a pearl-tinted mist, and the new atmos- 
 phere, arising from the sterile land of battlefields would 
 be, compared to the old, opaque and dull, an atmos- 
 phere stuccoed with materialism, obtrusive and de- 
 structive. 
 
 Acutely feeling this, there was nothing that greeted 
 her during her visit that was not sacred. The tat- 
 tered silk in the carriage, the mohair sticking out of 
 the cushions, the worn places in the carpets, the darns 
 in the damask cloth, the linen sheets with cobwebby 
 spots here and there, the tablecloths worn into holes 
 and carefully patched and darned, the lace curtains 
 hanging in strips, the broken mirrors, cracked cups
 
 DISINTEGRATION 87 
 
 and saucers and plates, the coverings falling from the 
 sofas and chairs, the dumb keys of the musical instru- 
 ments, the fences tumbling down, the gaps in the gar- 
 den, the shapeless vegetables, uneven and grotesque 
 that came up of their own will in queer spots and cor- 
 ners, the barn door falling off, and the floor of the barn 
 wearing in holes, the top of the well falling in, the well 
 bucket suspended to a rotten rope, the uncurried horses 
 and hard looking mules standing dismayed, all told of 
 death, and were sacred in her eyes. 
 
 Lying in the bed that night, wakeful under the spell 
 of impressions that had saddened her, she was aroused 
 by the sound of buggy wheels, and a moment later she 
 thought she heard David Lee's voice speaking to his 
 horse. Startled, she sat up and looked out. 
 
 She had not been mistaken. The buggy was at the 
 gate and, in the bright moonlight, she could see Dave 
 alighting, and Fielding, as he passed down the path, 
 greeting him. 
 
 Page felt her face flush. If they were expecting 
 Dave, why had she not been told? She drew back 
 from the window and laid back in her pillows as a 
 musical laugh from Dave fell on her ear.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE BATTLE 
 
 PAGE was surprised the next morning to find that 
 she had spent the night in peaceful sleep. She woke 
 invigorated by the country air, the sweet breeze that 
 blew in the window bringing with it the song and call 
 of birds. 
 
 Her first thought was Dave, and then conflicting 
 feelings surrounding his arrival. First she could not 
 deny the sense of elation, but this was offset by the 
 recognition of the fact that Dave was pursuing her, 
 and that there was no escaping either his presence or 
 his influence. That Cousin Betty was at the bottom 
 of this she did not doubt, and charged her with it dur- 
 ing the dressing hour. 
 
 The breakfast was a cheerful one, however, and all, 
 including Page, accepted Dave's unexpected arrival 
 as a sudden desire on his part to go fishing with Field- 
 ing. Cousin Betty was especially bright, and Aunt 
 Constance took two cups of coffee, a rare indulgence, 
 and declared that the country air had already, as it 
 had, put new life in her. 
 
 After breakfast the family dispersed to engage in 
 their various duties. Cousin Betty ran across the field 
 to visit a neighbor; Aunt Constance, a little fatigued, 
 was lying on the sofa in the parlor having a long talk 
 with the anaemic aunt, and Page found herself stand- 
 ing alone on the front porch. 
 
 The sun was not yet hot, and all the splendor of the 
 
 88
 
 THE BATTLE 89 
 
 young June day was before her. A gentle breeze was 
 blowing towards her, and in that breeze were the 
 scents of roses, honeysuckle, violets, and sheep mint. 
 This latter, trodden by the servants going to and fro 
 since daylight, yielded its strong, pungent odor that 
 Page felt she would ever remember, and had sometimes 
 fancied might come up to her in the hour of death. 
 It was fragrant and refreshing, a tonic perfume, sharp 
 in contrast with the languorous sweetness of the other 
 flowers. 
 
 The familiar scene affected her pleasurably. The 
 turkeys, just as they had been ever since she could re- 
 member, were strutting aimlessly and proudly about 
 the yard, the ducks were waddling, not proudly but 
 quite as though they were drunk, and the chickens 
 were picking industriously to satisfy appetites that 
 never gave them rest. The sky was so blue, the grass 
 so green, the hop vines, growing on the arbor a little 
 way off, so vivid in shade and so exquisite, the honey- 
 suckle, climbing on pillars and railings of the porch, 
 so seductive, that Page stood breathless with eyes and 
 nostrils open. 
 
 What thoughts had she not had, what skies had she 
 not seen from the low steps of this old porch. This 
 particular porch, with its particular flowers, that had 
 had its particular heaven and stars, and also its par- 
 ticular souls to enchant, and Page had been one of 
 those souls. It was a very ordinary porch, broad and 
 long. Part of the top at one corner was crumbling 
 away, and banisters were missing from the railing. A 
 giant framework erected nearly a century ago was at 
 one end, and upon it climbed a multiflora rosebush, 
 which bloomed in fragrant bwnches of white and faded 
 pink. Defiantly, from some seed blown hither, sprang
 
 90 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 forth, among these delicate tinted blooms, the Virginia 
 creeper, with its violent scarlet blossoms, and, over all, 
 yellow bees and humming birds were circling and 
 quivering. 
 
 She took it all in in a kind of ecstasy lost in a beau- 
 tiful dream, when Dave came through the open door, 
 and took his stand by her side. 
 
 "Page!" 
 
 "Yes, Dave?" 
 
 " I was a little brutal the other evening have you 
 forgiven it? " 
 
 "Oh! Yes." 
 
 " It's sweet to be in the country, this lovely June 
 morning, isn't it ? " he then asked. 
 
 " Very," answered Page. 
 
 " We have been visiting this old home, sometimes 
 separately, sometimes together, ever since we were little 
 children; haven't we? I couldn't stand here, on this 
 old porch, many moments and not think of you, nor 
 could you stand here many moments, Page, and not 
 think of me." 
 
 She made no reply, and for a while they listened 
 to a bird that broke the stillness with a clear rapturous 
 song. Then Dave continued : 
 
 " No matter what our future may be, no matter 
 what is in store for either you or me, one of the vivid 
 backgrounds of our lives will be this old porch, for 
 here, in one wa^ r or another, through the various peri- 
 ods of our existtnce, I have poured my love into you. 
 Oh ! What memories for the future memories of 
 the silence, the odors, the damp chill, or the moisture, 
 or the heat, they will all be with me," he tried to gaze 
 into her eyes, but she kept them fixed on a humming 
 bird that had settled on a honeysuckle blossom, " and
 
 THE BATTLE 91 
 
 with you forever and forever. How many nights, 
 tortured by my love for you, bewildered by some vision 
 of you, due to some especial picture of you in a cer- 
 tain dress, or a certain flower worn by you that ac- 
 centuated your beauty, or an old song sung by you that 
 had stirred all my being, have I risen from my bed, 
 while the household slept, and stolen down here to 
 saturate myself with all the sweetness of the night, 
 while I thought of you. You, too, have done the 
 same ; one night we met do you remember ? You 
 do, for my lips pressed yours that night. Page ! " 
 He leaned lightly against her. " It was very sweet, 
 that virgin kiss, and the weeks that followed when you 
 would not look into my eyes. You cannot forget that 
 kiss, Page. It entered into your being, just as the 
 gust of wind over the clover field you remember the 
 scene of the clover that night never to depart. It en- 
 tered into you and became a part of you, and all who 
 come into your presence will feel it as they will feel 
 all the other things that entered into you, that night, 
 whether from the heavens or the fields or the old gar- 
 den over there, or the woods or the lake at the foot of 
 the hill, or the river all that was of your youth in 
 Virginia." 
 
 He pressed nearer to her and pointed to a little 
 gnarled peach tree that grew in one corner of the 
 fence. 
 
 " Even that old peach tree is a part of you. The 
 peaches never amounted to much and have but a faint 
 flavor; they have been called flavorless, but they were 
 not flavorless to you and to me, when we gathered 
 them. You have watched that tree bloom and get its 
 leaves, and drop its blossoms and bring forth its fruit, 
 and you have seen that fruit ripen and have eaten of
 
 92 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 it That fruit is a part of you, and all will feel the 
 influence of it" 
 
 He saw that a look of ecstasy had come into her face, 
 and continued : 
 
 " Look beyond it to the 1 far-reaching field. That 
 life-everlasting, growing wild there is a part of you, 
 Page, and those tall flowers they call weeds that grow 
 high and have a white umbrella at the top of each 
 stem, they are a part of you! These blackberry 
 bushes growing riotously on the rail fences, down the 
 lanes, and around the fields and that flower and smell 
 so faintingly sweet and then bring forth fruit that 
 has dyed your fingers and the inside of your mouth a 
 rich purple, they are a part of you ! You are made up 
 of all these beautiful Virginia scenes and scents and 
 tastes. Do you not feel the charm of all this, and is 
 not ours a wonderful land, Page? Even its tragedies, 
 the awful blight and disaster that befell it, lend it dig- 
 nity!" 
 
 " Dave," exclaimed Page, " all that you say is true, 
 but what part are we taking in the great world ? Who 
 is thinking of us and remembering us? " 
 
 " Thinking of us remembering us ? " Dave 
 laughed. " Why, we are thinking of ourselves re- 
 membering each other! Haven't we Virginians ever 
 been sufficient unto ourselves, Page ! I grant that we 
 are not at present figuring conspicuously, and that 
 much that made us what we were in the eyes of the 
 world has been swept away, but there is still some- 
 thing here, an intangible something that can never be 
 swept away, or be destroyed. Our dead heroes breathe 
 it into our ears through their silence; our martyred 
 youth through their extinction; our broken-hearted 
 appeal by their courage in denying their broken hearts !
 
 THE BATTLE 93 
 
 You cannot escape your heritage, Page! Go where 
 you will, do what you will, and old Virginia, defeated, 
 blighted as she is, will claim you still ! " 
 
 " It isn't old Virginia," cried Page, apparently fol- 
 lowing her own thoughts, "that I turn from, Dave; 
 it's new Virginia." 
 
 " New Virginia," demanded Dave sharply, " what 
 is that? When I hear all this talk of old and new 
 Virginia, indignation burns me ! It is, and always will 
 be, the same old Virginia! When the grandchildren 
 of to-day are grand-parents, it will still be the same 
 old Virginia! That the life is different, I do not deny. 
 We do not live, we never will live again as we did, 
 but just as surely as the birds sing their same songs, 
 in spite of killing frosts, so will we sing our same song ! 
 A chilling frost fell upon us; we were struck a blow 
 almost too hard to bear. Many were killed and many 
 were wounded past recovery, if not in body in spirit, 
 but there is a white- faced convalescent army, still weak 
 in the knees, still a bit dazed, struggling forward un- 
 daunted and undismayed, and they or their descendants 
 these unconquered remnants of old Virginia will 
 in due time take the place of their ancestors be at 
 the head of this nation! There is no new Virginia, 
 Page, but a future for old Virginia, and if we could 
 look into that future, who shall say that we might not 
 cease our repining for the past? The future Virginia 
 will ever be a part of the past Virginia, for here will 
 dwell forever the graves of the brave, the homes of 
 the descendants of the brave, and the monuments of 
 the brave. Here the same flowers will bloom, the 
 same cedars stand erect, and the same brooks laugh 
 and leap to the same old hollows. There can be no 
 new Virginia until the very blood of old Virginia runs
 
 94 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 dry, and not then, for if all her citizens were to fall 
 in battle to-morrow, their sentiments would cling to 
 the rocks and hills and tree-tops t and running streams 
 and be perpetuated forever ! " 
 
 " Dave, that is your view ! Even if it were the true 
 view, there is something, it may only be war's after- 
 math, that is weighing upon me, so that I feel I must 
 flee away from it! With the exception of Nina, look 
 at this household ! " 
 
 " What of this household? Sorrows and cares are 
 here, I know, but there is a tranquillity born of patience, 
 the bending to, of what to them is God's will, and love 
 for one another that nothing can overthrow. That 
 you should be blind to this, is what I cannot under- 
 stand ; you ought to be a part of it ! " 
 
 A nervous spasm seemed to pass over her, and she 
 wrung her hands. 
 
 " But I am not ! I am not, and I can't make any 
 one understand! I feel an oppression that is beyond 
 words ! It seems to me that the slavery that fell from 
 the shoulders of our slaves has fallen upon us! We 
 ire slaves all of us ! Slaves of poverty, slaves of 
 old ideas, slaves to each other, slaves of ourselves ! I 
 am a slave, I feel myself a slave of a thousand intan- 
 gible, but real things that hold me bound hand and 
 foot. I can't bear it! I want to be free free, if 
 only for a little while to see myself, free to do some- 
 thing out of the ordinary routine; free to be an indi- 
 vidual not like every one else! I tell you, Dave, we 
 are all submerging our individuality in old ideas ! We 
 live alike, think alike, do the same things day after 
 day! I want new people, new thoughts, a new en- 
 vironment to stand alone in and find out what I am 
 what I contain, what is in me why I am what I
 
 THE BATTLE 95 
 
 am for ! A stifled personality is crying out for breath, 
 breath, breath breath ! And besides, I want to be 
 something in the world ! " 
 
 " You can be something in the world," cried Dave, 
 "by staying here; that in itself, Page, may make of 
 you a heroine ! " 
 
 " A martyred heroine ! I tell you we are tied 
 tied to a dead 'past. We are afraid of it, and afraid 
 of ourselves, afraid to advance to a new idea, a new 
 thought, afraid to do anything but cling with all our 
 might and main to the rotting, disintegrating old ! " 
 
 " Why not, since that old represented a dream-life 
 so irresistible that the world held its breath? We do 
 not want the new here but the old, as far as possible, 
 renewed and kept alive ! " 
 
 " That is a mad dream ! May I show you a pic- 
 ture? Fielding and Robert Hughes with Emily stand- 
 ing between them ! That is what is to be things 
 like that. And I tell you I am afraid, a terrible dread 
 is upon me lest I be one of the foundaton stones, buried 
 in the earth, upon which the new things will be built. 
 I want to run away from what rises up this very mo- 
 ment before my eyes." 
 
 They were blazing as she spoke, and her voice was 
 that of a young prophetess. 
 
 " I tell you, that nothing that has been will be, and 
 that we of the aristocracy must go to the wall! We 
 are the vanquished ones, and in our places there is 
 rising up a new and victorious army, headed by the 
 common people! Their opportunity is at hand, they 
 know it and will take advantage of it as Robert Hughes 
 has! Their very hope is in the pathos of our situa- 
 tion, and they will be aided by slaves of luxury like 
 Cousin Edmund. Old Virginia is dead and the new
 
 96 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 Virginia is in the hands of a silent enemy, bent upon 
 her extinction." 
 
 " If that is your belief, Page," Dave cried, with 
 pulses throbbing and eyes ablaze, " a sacred and tre- 
 mendous responsibility rests upon you, a responsibility 
 that if properly shouldered will make of you one of an 
 army of heroines second only to Joan of Arc, who 
 gladly went to the stake for her France ! " 
 
 " And what is that?" 
 
 " To be a light in this overspreading darkness ! " 
 
 Breathless silence followed Dave's words. Never 
 had woman in Virginia spoken as Page had, and for a 
 moment it staggered him, angered him, but he con- 
 trolled his emotions, and when he spoke his voice was 
 steady and rang out like a bell. 
 
 " Not before, Page, has this sentence of death of 
 the old life of Virginia been so boldly proclaimed. I 
 do not say that we have not felt it, many of us have, 
 in our hearts we knew it Uncle Ran knew it when 
 he retired from the world of action to the four walls 
 of his home I have felt it all my life, but I have 
 tried to stifle those feelings ! Our despair, yes, if need 
 be, but our despair in silence and lit by hope! The 
 conditions before the war were favorable, I admit, to 
 the cultivation and preservation of sentiment, chivalry, 
 courage in short, to the natural development of the 
 best in men and women. Now that the conditions 
 are unfavorable, all the more need of trying to per- 
 petuate these things! In cultivating and preserving 
 the virtues of our ancestors, we will by example cause 
 those who are beneath us to respect, emulate, and, to 
 some extent, preserve those virtues. One man with 
 courage and tenacity of purpose has often sufficed 
 to raise up his whole people to higher standards. But
 
 THE BATTLE 97 
 
 that is not our task. We are to teach our people to 
 maintain their old standards! We are to preserve and 
 perpetuate those standards of the old South, the old 
 South with its poetry, its fragrance, its genuineness, its 
 courtesy, and its honor. That new thoughts that will 
 form new habits are in the air no one can deny; all the 
 more reason for preserving the old thoughts ! " 
 
 " I don't agree with you ! Men like your Uncle 
 Randolph can afford to revere and cherish and live in 
 resigned contemplation of the old. Their day of ac- 
 tion is over; they may content themselves by living 
 in the memories of a vanished dream, but we who are 
 the outcome of that dream have a new life with new 
 duties before us first of all the duty to self! " 
 
 " Page, Page, what madness is this that has taken 
 possession of you and blinded you to all things except 
 yourself! Grant that all you say is true, have you no 
 desire to, as I just said, be a light in the overspreading 
 darkness? Can you really think of deserting those 
 older than you those who have borne, and are still 
 bearing patiently their deprivations, mortifications, 
 and bitter anguish, those who need you to lean upon? 
 Should you not remain by their side to be a comfort 
 to them, to extend hope, even the hope that you may 
 not believe in, that all that they cherish and value will 
 net, even though they themselves are perishing, perish ? 
 Should not we, you and I and those like us, of our gen- 
 eration, keep alive as far as possible, their sentiments 
 for them? " He leaned forward, took up one of her 
 hands and pressed it. " Our dear stricken ones, 
 Page!" 
 
 Dave was talking on broad lines, but Page recog- 
 nized that back of it was the personal appeal and with- 
 drew her hand.
 
 98 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 A nettled, half -pained look crossed his features, but 
 he controlled them and took up his theme in an even 
 gentler tone. 
 
 " I know, dearest heart," he said, " that with your 
 impressionable temperament, the present is often try- 
 ing, and that the future looms dark before you; it does 
 to us all, if we pause to admit it, but the lights you see 
 beckoning you beyond us all, those gleaming lights in 
 the far distance, are false lights. Blind your eyes to 
 them. I feel that it is my duty at this time to warn 
 you! Grant me disinterestedness in the sacred office 
 of friendship. Perhaps you will say that self-interest 
 is influencing me ; so it is I love you, but your in- 
 terest, believe me, is my -first thought! I don't want 
 you to go to New York, even for a month, even for a 
 week or a day! The atmosphere of a great city like 
 New York is infectious. No one is immune. There 
 is a New York fever that none escape! Those who 
 catch it are weaned from home and their friends 
 they know not why. The glamour, the daily spectacle 
 like the gladiatorial fights of the Romans inter- 
 est them. They feel lost without its excitements. They 
 get lonely and heart sick if they are not in the turmoil. 
 It is no place for you. Your place is here, your mis- 
 sion the mission of every Virginia girl to be the 
 wife of an honest man and to inspire that man to do 
 great things that will redound to the glory of his name 
 and shed luster on his native state. Page, are you 
 listening to me? " 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 " With my heart and brain full of you, I visited Co- 
 ton Hall the other day. What a wreck, but what a 
 sacred wreck, with a foundation that cannot be de- 
 stroyed, an atmosphere that wealth cannot buy ! I en-
 
 THE BATTLE 99 
 
 tered it with tears in my eyes, I came out with triumph 
 in my soul. What a life was lived there, what noble 
 thoughts, what courageous dreams ! These things 
 those thoughts and feelings of my ancestors have 
 buried themselves in the very walls and to those in tune 
 with them, shine like jewels. Before I left, the place 
 seemed illuminated. It is for sale let me strive to 
 offer it to you, Page together with a love that has 
 burned and glowed and strengthened for you every day 
 of my life. I say I offer it to you, for with your love 
 I can win anything I try for as yet I know not how 
 but that I can I feel sure. Page! " 
 
 " Yes ! " 
 
 " Answer me ! I know that I am right. Your part 
 is in our glorious stricken land, where as in every other 
 spot on God's green earth each human soul may have 
 the chance he makes for himself! I cannot see you 
 in any other sphere ! Oh ! my beloved, believe me, the 
 mistress of the humblest Virginia homestead, seated at 
 the head of the table, surrounded by her sons and 
 daughters, and with the master of the house smiling 
 upon her, is the real queen with the crown of gold, 
 and the others, those queens of a materialistic exist- 
 ence, are the sham queens with diadems of paste. 
 With your youth and beauty you see those diadems of 
 paste within your grasp. But oh, Page, when you find 
 out they are paste, when they pall and pale what is there 
 left? Youth and beauty fade, pleasures forsake, even 
 those who have sacrificed their souls in their pursuit. 
 Oh ! and the awakening the bitterness, the years 
 hold for the man or woman who sells his or her birth- 
 right for a mess of pottage! But why these useless 
 words ! " A light, triumphant laugh escaped him, the 
 laugh she knew and had heard the night before on his
 
 ioo THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 arrival, the laugh with its slightly cruel masculine 
 ring. " They are useless words, Page, for, do what 
 you will, you cannot escape Virginia. No Virginian 
 can ! You may take your body away, you may go to 
 the North, or the far South, or the East or the West, 
 you may cross the seas and scale the highest peaks of 
 Switzerland's highest mountain, but your soul will al- 
 ways be here! Look at me!" He turned her face 
 to him and fixed his eyes in hers. " You may give 
 your body to another, live in daily contact with an- 
 other all your days, but your heart will be with me. 
 You cannot escape Virginia, Page, and you cannot 
 escape me. What answer have you for me ? " 
 
 His last words were not a question but a command, 
 and a flash of anger swept through her. 
 
 She stood back from him with heightened color and 
 slightly lifted her head, exulting in his love for her 
 and her old power over him. 
 
 " No answer! " she cried. " You followed me here, 
 ran me to cover, but you cannot bend me to your will 
 nor deter me from my purpose ! " 
 
 For a moment he regarded her critically. Then he 
 laughed again, and this time there was a note of harsh- 
 ness. 
 
 He turned and walked away from her with a rapid 
 stride. Her eyes followed him as he joined Fielding 
 plowing in a distant field. 
 
 The curb bit was a thing David Lee had detested 
 all his life, but by the time he reached Fielding he had 
 decided to use it.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE FLOWER GIRL 
 
 THE day passed as all fair days in the country pass. 
 Changes took place in the heavens as in a moving 
 panorama ; shadows fell on the grass at the accustomed 
 hour ; the song of birds grew less frequent as the heat 
 increased, and more frequent as it diminished. 
 
 The routine of the house was in no way disturbed 
 by the arrival of guests, the family being as used to 
 company as to themselves. Events occurred as they 
 must in every household; guests came and went, but 
 the life of patient duty went on just the same, even as 
 the ocean's tides go in and out, though the gayest ships 
 sail upon its surface or wrecks seek its bottom. 
 
 Page took her place with the rest, sewing a little 
 with Liela, going to the smoke-house with Maria, 
 watching with Elva the preserving caldron that hung 
 above a chip fire in the yard. 
 
 She was in a peculiar mood and moved about aim- 
 lessly without interest, her mind fixed upon Dave, his 
 voice, with its oratorical cadence, lingering in her ears. 
 What Dave had told her concerning herself that night 
 on Gamble's Hill was quite true. He had changed; a 
 new man was confronting her and this newness, the 
 novelty of it, excited her interest. 
 
 When he finally returned to the house Nina was 
 with him. 
 
 Page saw them from the window. Nina had in her 
 arms a large bunch of peonies, and Page noticed that
 
 102 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 an unusual radiance seemed shining in her face as she 
 archly looked up at Dave, who was smiling. 
 
 An old feeling of resentment of Nina, quite familiar 
 to her, awakened and stirred uncomfortably. Nina 
 had always been regarded by Page in the light of a 
 rival in a general sense. The girl's dazzling Juno- 
 like appearance, had often, she felt, eclipsed her own, 
 which was of a more persuasive, appealing nature. 
 There had been occasions at parties when it was Nina, 
 not she, who had reigned as the belle. 
 
 While Nina was imperious and commanding, she 
 was withal a witch among men. The sight of her 
 turned their heads. She was a buoyant, wild creature 
 with the strength of a young antelope. She danced 
 with the fire of a Russian; rode horseback like the 
 cavaliers; she eulogized and emulated; she was a boy 
 girl with all the femininity of a goddess ; she was like 
 a goddess captured by fate and imprisoned in this old 
 home along with seven doleful martyrs. Nobody in 
 or out of the family had ever been able to account 
 for Nina blooming like a flaming red rose in the center 
 of a desert. She had hazel eyes made up of brown 
 and yellow stripes that dazzled ; a complexion like a 
 camelia leaf, and a wealth of red hair that covered her 
 head like a crown of fire, and, when unbound, fell 
 over upon her over-full bust and Grecian shoulders in 
 riotous and voluptuous showers. 
 
 Page saw and heard Dave obeying her orders. He 
 drew fresh water from the well at her command, and 
 helped her arrange the flowers in a large bowl in the 
 hall. Then they entered the parlor and remained there 
 alone in the darkened room playing checkers. It was 
 a merry game, and Page could hear Nina's laugh, a 
 young laugh, full of the triumph of youth and con-
 
 THE FLOWER GIRL 103 
 
 scions power. The game continued for two hours, un- 
 til, in fact, the " kitchen bell " rang a signal for din- 
 ner. Once a scuffle had ensued during the game, and, 
 rising from her seat and glancing in, Page had seen 
 Dave chasing Nina about the room. He captured 
 her and was wresting something from her hand when 
 her wealth of hair tumbled down. 
 
 " It's my king! " Nina was crying, but Dave, with 
 a sharp pressure on her hand, caused her fingers to 
 open to him and he took it. Nina's head was thrown 
 back, a defiant look in her face, an admiring one in 
 his, and, as their eyes met, Page felt her heart con- 
 tract, and a sudden blindness came over her. For an 
 instant she hated them both, for acute jealousy is mo- 
 mentary hatred of the cne who inflicts it as well as 
 the one who inspires it. 
 
 After dinner Dave went off again to the fields with 
 Fielding, but at five o'clock he drove up to the house in 
 his buggy, and Nina, who had already been seated in 
 the hall with her hat on, flew to the gate, leaped to his 
 side, not waiting to be " helped," and they drove off 
 and did not return until ail the others w^ere seated at 
 the supper table. 
 
 This time the girl had roses in her arms, they had 
 been given to her by a neighbor; she had lost her hat 
 and was laughing about it and telling Dave that it was 
 all his fault driving so fast down the hill. She flew 
 around the table, kissing her mother and her aunt 
 and all the five sisters ; stuck a rose in Aunt Constance's 
 hair, and told Cousin Betty all the rest were for her 
 except one big one that she had picked out for Page ! 
 
 Page took the rose with an effort, feeling that she 
 would like to fasten her teeth in the firm white hand 
 that presented it. She glanced at Dave, but he had
 
 104 
 
 taken his seat and was talking in a lively strain to 
 Cousin Betty. 
 
 Fielding was standing at the foot of the table cut- 
 ting slices of ham, and Nina merrily took the plates 
 and helped everybody before she took her seat. 
 
 When supper was over Page again strolled to the 
 porch and stood with her hands on the railing looking 
 out. A full moon had risen and the grounds and 
 roads and fields were so lit up that they seemed to be 
 covered in a light fall of snow. The silence was 
 intense, broken only by the insect orchestra that fell 
 upon her ear awakening memories. 
 
 Finally Dave came out and took his stand beside 
 her, the same as in the morning, and she turned and 
 looked him squarely in the face. 
 
 " How I have hated you to-day ! " she exclaimed 
 under her breath, and he saw that she was deadly pale, 
 paler than the moonlight could account for. 
 
 He made no reply, forcing upon her a kind of ten- 
 derness of manner that she resented. She was about 
 to turn from him and re-enter the house, from which 
 voices in conversation were reaching them, when Nina 
 came out. 
 
 She had changed her gown and looked a young god- 
 dess indeed in a dress of some white clinging material 
 and with a white rose pinned on her breast and one in 
 her hair. 
 
 Page felt all the girl's delight in herself and a cer- 
 tain robustness and health about her that she feared 
 as a contrast to her morbidness and pallor. She 
 recognized, with a kind of start, that she had grown 
 thin recently and struggled to maintain her courage 
 and ease of manner before Dave and this exuberant 
 and exultant girl.
 
 THE FLOWER GIRL 105 
 
 "Aren't you feeling well, Page?" the girl asked, 
 slipping an arm about her. " You seemed so silent 
 at supper, and why did you come out here all alone? 
 Let's take a walk down to the big gate. Fielding will 
 be busy for an hour yet, Dave ! " 
 
 She was still in her merry mood and Page had to 
 succumb to her dragging them both along with her. 
 
 The night had grown cool and refreshing with the 
 strong pungent scents of the fields pressing inward. 
 
 Out in the open road Nina's spirits rose beyond 
 bounds. She dropped Page's hand and still holding 
 by one of Dave's, she ran like a deer, dragging him 
 after her. She kept this up for quite a distance and 
 then she stopped breathless, and, laughing, held her 
 hand to her beating heart. 
 
 Page, also in a white dress, was following wearily. 
 She wanted to turn back but could not do so for fear 
 of betraying her feelings. Nina knew full well that 
 Dave had always been in love with Page and the slight- 
 est action on her part would only add to the girl's 
 triumph that he had neglected Page for her. 
 
 She resented Nina fiercely, far more so than 
 Martha Morton. All her ugliest emotions were 
 aroused, emotions that retrospectively always surprised 
 her. She would have liked to injure the girl, efface 
 her, but she had to follow in the wake of one of her 
 mad pranks or appear before her ridiculous. Her feet 
 almost refused to carry her along. For one instant 
 she did pause, and there came over her, accompanied 
 by a feeling of helplessness, the feminine desire to de- 
 stroy all the women in the world and stand alone. 
 
 She recovered from this and walked on dazed, 
 scarcely knowing what she was doing or thinking. 
 
 Suddenly she experienced another one of those emo-
 
 io6 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 tions common to her, when in her own sight she was 
 but a nonentity, a piece of lifeless clay, something 
 spiritless useless. She felt her courage, before this 
 insolently dominating creature, fresher, younger, more 
 luxuriant than herself, completely fail her. 
 
 Then she saw that Dave had left Nina and was com- 
 ing back for her and her heart leaped. 
 
 When he reached her, he stopped with his back to 
 Nina, in front of her. 
 
 " I want to speak to you to-night, Page," he said, 
 " before you retire. When the others go up come out 
 on the porch. I shall be waiting for you." 
 
 " There is nothing for you to say to me," she 
 answered coldly. 
 
 " There is a great deal to say," he returned. " I 
 shall expect you." 
 
 Then they went forward and Nina strolled towards 
 them.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE CURB BIT 
 
 ' You made such a point of asking me to wait up 
 to-night to speak to you that I did so," said Page in a 
 cold voice from the doorway that led to the porch 
 where Dave was standing with his back to the railing 
 in the shadow of the multiflora rose vine. His eyes 
 had been fixed for some moments on the doorway. 
 As she appeared and spoke, he put out his hand. 
 " Come here, Page." 
 
 " Can't you say what you wish to from there? " she 
 asked. " I am a little tired to-night; I wish to go up- 
 stairs." 
 
 " No, I cannot, I want to talk to you come here ! " 
 
 Resenting the command in his tone, yet unable to 
 resist it, she approached him reluctantly. 
 
 " What is it you wish to say to me? " 
 
 He took her hand and drew her to him. 
 
 " That I love you that I never have loved you as 
 I have to-day ! " 
 
 " You showed it," she returned and instantly re- 
 gretted her words. 
 
 " No, I didn't show it I hid it ! I've been acting 
 a part, an unworthy part! I was wondering before 
 you appeared just now if there was anything I would 
 not do for the sake of my love! I know I would do 
 all the great things, I believe now I would do all the 
 wicked things, even the mean, low, cruel things. 
 There is no height I would not try to ascend to, no 
 
 107
 
 depths I would not stoop to! I've been guilty of a 
 trick to-day; I've been trying to make you jealous ! I 
 hope I succeeded, for I suffered enough. I broke 
 down, I drove that girl home like mad; her hat blew 
 off and I wouldn't stop to let her pick it up I realized 
 I had been throwing away precious hours. When I 
 got here I was strong ; I wouldn't meet your eyes ; I 
 kept it up the day is gone, and I haven't been with 
 you it's gone and I never can get it back ! Do you 
 understand now why I asked you to come out here to 
 me to-night ? " 
 
 " I thought you seemed very content with Nina," 
 answered Page. 
 
 " Then you pay a tribute to my acting ; I tried to 
 appear to you content more I was trying to make 
 you jealous! I look upon Nina as Fielding does, and 
 her sisters do. She's a dear, brave, courageous girl, 
 making the best of life out of nothing; I always think 
 of her as dancing at a funeral to keep from breaking 
 down ; she's the most heroic little thing in all the world ! 
 She hates the idea of teaching as I might hate the idea 
 of Hell itself, but she told me to-day she was trying 
 hard to get a position so as to take some of the burden 
 off of Fielding. It brought the tears to my eyes, poor 
 little brave soul, and I used her to-day, used her as a 
 tool to fight my own battle. It made me ashamed ! I 
 repeat, is there anything I wouldn't do for the sake 
 of my love for you! And how little comprehension 
 you seem to have of it ! " 
 
 He pushed her almost roughly from him and they 
 stood a while in silence. 
 
 The old house was quiet; the moon was under a 
 cloud, all was darkness except for a light that 
 streamed from the library window, where Fielding was
 
 THE CURB BIT 109 
 
 waiting for Dave, and settled on the ground like a 
 mammoth jewel. Nothing but silence and darkness 
 and the sweet odors pouring forth from garden and 
 field like a song. 
 
 " One instant to-night," Dave finally continued, " it 
 all, all that I had been trying to do to inflict pain on 
 you, seemed worth while. It was in the road when 
 you lost confidence in yourself and faltered and wanted 
 to go back; the moment when I felt that you needed 
 me and I went back to meet you. I wanted you to 
 lose confidence in yourself, I always want you to lose 
 confidence in yourself that you may turn to me ! Turn 
 to me now, Page come into my arms. Whether 
 you mean to give yourself into my keeping or not, 
 whether you are going away or whether you are going 
 to stay, whether it is right or wrong, come into my 
 arms for this once. What can anything matter? I'm 
 so tired of loving you hopelessly; so hungry for one 
 moment's reward ! " 
 
 To her surprise he put out his arms and drew her to 
 him and a moment later she felt his tears on her 
 throat and his slender form shaken by sobs. 
 
 Page did not know how long they remained thus. 
 She was feeling that Dave convulsed by sobs, his eyes 
 overflowing with tears, was a terrible thing. A 
 realization of his love for her and the suffering it was 
 causing him, overcame her. A great pity for him, for 
 conditions, for Nina, herself, all things filled her 
 heart, so that tears gushed into her own eyes. Then 
 mingled with her feeling of indefinite sadness and help- 
 less regret, was a great joy, the joy of a strong man's 
 surrender to her and of her complete possession. She 
 felt like folding this great human possession in her 
 arms and keeping it there against her heart forever.
 
 no THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 His lithe body was warm and she could feel his 
 heart-beats that were strong as the blows of a sledge 
 hammer bent upon the destruction of his frame. 
 Finally she felt herself melting under his fierce em- 
 brace that had become fixed, as it were, for all eternity. 
 Her limbs began to give way beneath the weight of a 
 form that was becoming an inert mass that would fall 
 without his support. Her arms lifted involuntarily 
 and clasped this form that was pressed to hers, and 
 Dave returned the pressure with arms that were like 
 steel and hurt her, feeling himself in an opium dream, 
 soothed, contented at last. 
 
 Finally he raised his head and Page barely recog- 
 nized the face she caught sight of. It was strange and 
 new, illumined and pathetic, yet cruel. 
 
 " Page," he whispered, " put back your beautiful 
 head, give me your sweet, sweet lips ! Oh ! you will ! 
 My love ! My love ! " 
 
 A moment later he lifted his head, laid his hands 
 heavily on her shoulders, and gazed into her subdued 
 eyes, his own blazing in triumph. 
 
 " I have branded you with that kiss," he cried ; 
 " my mark will be upon you forever into eternity 
 itself you will bear it! Speak aloud the love I 
 have just felt; tell it to me I want to hear you 
 speak the words! Do you love me? Do you, my 
 darling?" 
 
 " Dave," she cried, freeing herself and standing apart 
 from him, " I do love you, but even in the moment 
 of this confession I feel a stronger call, that I know, 
 against my will, will bear me away from you! It is 
 the call of self ! Self that is crying out for freedom 
 to break away from the old and enter in upon the new ! 
 Why this call I do not know ! But it is as insistent in
 
 THE CURB BIT in 
 
 my heart as the never ceasing cry of the birds in the 
 woods or the restless movements of the fish in the sea. 
 It never ceases, never gives me rest, it always is the 
 I, I, I, that must be satisfied before I part with it be- 
 fore it is sacrificed even to you ! " 
 
 "Then go!" 
 
 The words sprang from his lips like a pistol shot. 
 Page felt herself start as though she had been struck by 
 them and then her eyes fell upon his face that seemed to 
 be electrically charged and blazing. She could see his 
 eyes shining and the live hair glistening and on his com- 
 pressed lips an expression she had never seen before 
 and that sent terror through her. 
 
 " Go! " he repeated, " and send Nina to me! " 
 
 "Nina!" 
 
 " Yes, Nina ! I'm going to ask her here, now, this 
 very moment, to be my wife ! She may not consent 
 I believe she will ! I'm better than teaching school 
 becoming a school teacher! I'm going to take her 
 home with me and give her an unconscious task to per- 
 form ! I'm going to make her teach me to forget you ! 
 I'm going to make her youth, her eyes, her lips, that 
 lovely wonderful hair, that divine form, all my instru- 
 ments to work against you to oust you from my 
 heart to trample every memory of you under my 
 feet!" 
 
 " Dave, have you gone mad ? " 
 
 " No, I'm getting my senses ! I've been mad all 
 my life about you! Your spirit, your soul, all the 
 things I find you don't possess, and I'm sick and tired, 
 worn out with that madness ! In the niche where my 
 adoration of you has dwelt, I am going to put a 
 beautiful woman! " 
 
 " Dave ! Dave ! " and the words were a gasp.
 
 ii2 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 " Take back those words ! You didn't mean them ! 
 Tell me ! Did you mean them ? " 
 
 "No, no, a thousand times no! I'm fighting for 
 you! Come into my arms, put your head on my 
 breast ! I love you ! I love you ! " 
 
 She fell against him and for a moment the earth 
 became a liquid sea of love and poured into them all 
 its enchantment. 
 
 In their ears was the sound of a banjo from a dis- 
 tant negro cabin and the old familiar echo of the 
 whippoorwill. 
 
 Page drank in the sweetness of these old familiar 
 sounds as one takes a last view of things while the 
 shore recedes from sight.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 RESTING ON CONVENTIONS 
 
 A LITTLE later she crept up the steps stealthily and 
 entered the room that she occupied with Nina. 
 
 Her own bed had been turned down by the girl's fair 
 hands, a bowl of sweet peas, a candle and some matches 
 placed on a little table beside it. 
 
 Across the room, under a window with the moon- 
 light flooding her, Nina lay asleep, all her wealth of 
 tawny hair flung over the pillow and one snow white 
 arm buried in the meshes. With a shoulder partly ex- 
 posed the girl was like some marvelous recumbent 
 statue into which a genius had poured his soul. 
 
 Page crept to the side of the bed and gazed upon her 
 with that solemn wonder that one feels in beholding a 
 masterpiece. She never forgot the vision and long 
 after she went to bed the thought of this radiant 
 luminous creature imprisoned in this old house day 
 after day, year after year, weighed upon her. 
 
 Half undressed she took her seat on the side of her 
 bed, still under the spell of Dave's kiss, and fell to 
 thinking. For a while she experienced a languorous 
 feeling of contentment, a slipping away of all conten- 
 tion of opposing conditions, and all the charm and rest 
 of throwing the oars of her life into Dave's hands, 
 drifting as he willed it. She was as one resting from 
 battle. But soon she was again attacked by a sense of 
 oppression and, rising slowly, she stretched out her 
 
 "3
 
 ii4 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 arms to the mystery of the beyond. Then with a half 
 guilty feeling she crept into bed. 
 
 The room was directly over the library and after a 
 while she heard Fielding and Dave in low, earnest con- 
 versation. Later they passed out of the house and 
 sitting up and looking out of the window, she saw them 
 walking slowly down the road, two tall slender forms, 
 in many respects alike in their veins the blood of 
 cavaliers, on their hearts the scars of rebellion, with 
 minds alive to imperious sentiment. 
 
 Page felt all this. How like two brothers they were, 
 and how much this visit of Dave's meant to Fielding! 
 They had always, since little lads, who went fishing and 
 swimming and hunting together, loved each other 
 dearer than brothers and their friendship had never 
 known a ripple on its pure surface. Dave had his arm 
 over Fielding's shoulder and she rejoiced that Fielding 
 was having this hour that meant so much in his life. 
 She fell asleep thinking of them. 
 
 " You are looking a little worn, Fielding," Dave was 
 saying. " Nina tells me, you have been having chills." 
 
 " I have been, Dave," 
 
 " You must take better care of yourself. You must 
 keep out of the sun and the heat of the day." 
 
 " How often have you said that to me, Dave, but 
 how can I ? I've got to keep in the sun, or the rain, or 
 whatever comes along for the day. There is nothing 
 for me but work," he smiled sadly, " in all weathers. 
 There are, besides my own, eight mouths to feed, eight 
 bodies to clothe and keep warm, all dear to me and only 
 my hand and the dull earth." 
 
 Fielding had always been remarkable, just as had 
 Dave, for his clear sweet voice, so that the simplest 
 words fell from his lips like a poem.
 
 RESTING ON CONVENTIONS 115 
 
 They had paused in their walk and were standing in 
 the moonlit road beside an old rail fence. 
 
 " The earth, you know, Dave," he continued, " is like 
 a jealous friend. You must be always giving it your 
 attention or it will develop into something hideous. 
 Weeds spring up upon it like evil moods of the selfish 
 friend and it takes time and strength to live down what 
 your neglect has allowed to flourish. So to the man 
 who takes up with the earth it's always work! But," 
 he added wearily, " what does it matter, after all, our 
 individual fatigues and woes? When you come to 
 think of it we over-estimate ourselves." 
 
 Dave did not reply to this. He loved the sound of 
 Fielding's voice, with its silver cadence of sadness and 
 all about them, like an accompaniment to it, was the 
 wonderful charm of the summer night. 
 
 Presently, however, he spoke. " I still say that you 
 must take care of yourself," he said firmly. 
 
 " Oh ! I am all right ; it isn't easy to kill a sinewy 
 son of toil like me by such easy methods I really am 
 all right, though they all think otherwise. Haven't I 
 borne everything for years, until they took from me the 
 one thing my inspiration under all trials ? I mean 
 Emily, of course." 
 
 He laid his left hand on Dave's shoulder and as Page 
 was never to forget the vision of Nina, this night, Dave 
 was never to forget his friend's face. Pale, the soul- 
 ful eyes a bit haggard, the sunburned cheeks hollowed, 
 the bone of the handsome, strong jaws becoming out- 
 lined, and an expression that was almost tragic. " Oh ! 
 my God, Dave, when I think of her father giving her 
 over to that brute for the sake of his own physical 
 comfort, I want to go there and strangle him before the 
 deed is accomplished. I feel murder in my heart! I
 
 ii6 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 saw her last week, she was giving a party you were 
 there, I believe; she came out to the sidewalk you 
 knew I had been denied the house ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, I heard this party was a farewell party, and 
 I went there and walked up and down the sidewalk 
 willing her to consciousness of it! And she came to 
 me, Dave ! " He paused and then went on. " Several 
 times I saw her at the window, her little face framed in 
 her hands looking out. At last she saw me I saw 
 her turn quickly as though to run and knew then I had 
 only to wait that my love was coming to me to say 
 farewell. It's since that night that I haven't felt well 
 not been able to steady myself. You know how 
 sweet she is! Was there ever anything created on 
 earth or in heaven as sweet as she is? And they are 
 sacrificing her, Dave, sacrificing her, and I, may God 
 help me, I can't save her! What can I do? I've been 
 wanting to see you ! What can I do, Dave? If it was 
 Nina, do you know what I would do ? Plunge a dag- 
 ger in her heart as Virginius plunged a dagger into his 
 daughter's heart ! " 
 
 " Fielding," Dave cried, looking in alarm on the an- 
 guished, distorted countenance, " you must not talk so 
 intemperately. Hard as your lot is, Emily's is harder, 
 and look at her sustained by the courage of a martyr 
 sacrificing self for others ! Do you know she is ready 
 to do this thing? There is something sublime in it. 
 Take courage from that! And you are not the only 
 one. Did you know that Page is thinking of going to 
 New York?" 
 
 " I have heard it, yes, Dave, but I thought I 
 hoped it would be all fixed up between you to-night." 
 
 " Page is impressionable, she was under my influence
 
 RESTING ON CONVENTIONS 117 
 
 to-night and the spell of environment, but my battle is 
 not won by any means. It's almost as hard for me to 
 stand by and see Page go to New York, as for you to 
 see Emily enter the home of Robert Hughes." 
 
 " Oh ! No ! " Fielding answered with a shudder, 
 and after a pause. "Oh! This restlessness, Dave, 
 that is beginning to gnaw at the hearts of our women ! 
 Everywhere I go I am confronted by it women at- 
 tempting to take steps independent of man. Have you 
 heard that Nina wants to go away and teach school 
 become a school teacher in a public school ? " 
 
 " Yes, she told me to-day." 
 
 " Well, she never shall ! My God, Dave, she never 
 shall ! When she goes from my arms, from my care, 
 from this old home that she is the light of, it must be 
 to a better love and a better home ! She thinks, God 
 bless her, Dave, that if she gets out of the way, leaves 
 one less mouth to feed, I might snatch Emily from 
 them and bring her here ! God bless her, Dave ! " 
 
 He put his hands upon Dave's shoulders and fixed 
 his smoldering eyes in his. " What are we going to 
 do about it, Dave, this restlessness that poverty has en- 
 gendered in our women? " 
 
 " I'll tell you what we are going to do about it, 
 Fielding," Dave cried, " we're going to fight it, fight it 
 to the finish with the last drop of blood in our veins as 
 we fought in the Civil War for the protection of the 
 home and fireside. We're going to fight to keep them 
 in their places, where they belong because that is 
 the only way to keep them pure and true and happy! 
 Try not, at any rate, for the present, to think on these 
 things, Fielding ! Do you know," he added, " that you 
 are in a very excited mental condition ? You must get 
 away and take a rest, my friend ! Put a hired man in
 
 n8 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 your place and come to me a few days. Mother said 
 I must not fail to exact a promise of you before I 
 left. Will you?" 
 
 " I'll think about it, Dave." 
 
 They stood still quite a while after this, each silently 
 filled with the presence of the other and holding on to 
 every moment and then, still silent, they strolled slowly 
 towards the house. 
 
 The next morning Dave was off by daylight and later 
 in the day the other guests took the boat.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 A LIFE AT STAKE 
 
 " MARSE DAVE ! Marse Dave ! " 
 
 The voice, half shriek, half wail, rang through the 
 bare uncarpeted hall and Dave looked up quickly from 
 the newspaper he was reading. He knew the voice; 
 it was Martha's and there was liquor in the tones. She 
 strode into the room with the step of an Indian and 
 stood straight and wild-eyed before him. 
 
 Her usually neat appearance had, in a measure, for- 
 saken her; her dress was torn, her apron rumpled, and 
 her calico slat-bonnet, with its ornate ruffled cape, hung 
 limp about her startled terror-stricken face. 
 
 " Well, Aunt Martha," asked Dave quietly, " what 
 is it?" 
 
 For answer she flung herself emotional and half in- 
 toxicated at his feet, crying out again : " Marse Dave ! 
 Marse Dave ! " 
 
 " Well, Aunt Martha," he repeated, with a tinge of 
 impatience this time, " what is it what's the 
 trouble?" 
 
 " It's Sam, Marse Dave," exclaimed the poor de- 
 mented creature. 
 
 Dave frowned. " He's been up to more mischief ? " 
 he asked sternly. 
 
 Martha knelt before him and broke forth: " Naw, 
 naw, Marse Dave, befo' de livin' Gaud he ain't done 
 nothin' dis time he wrongfully 'cused! " 
 
 " Of what? " demanded Dave sharply. 
 
 119
 
 120 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 " He broke out de jail," the poor soul went on, rock- 
 ing her body backwards and forwards as she talked; 
 " he stole his way to de woods ter hide fur fear of bein' 
 kotched, en " she broke off and commenced wring- 
 ing her hands. 
 
 " Well, Aunt Martha, go on," said Dave command- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Er week ago dey found a white gal in de woods 
 'long whar he had been, some devil done choked her ter 
 dqaf and kase Sam escaped de jail en somebody seen 
 him in de woods dat day, dey done put it on him en dey 
 houndin' him ter deaf ! En it 'tain't so, Marse Dave, it 
 'tain't so!" 
 
 Her tears gushed forth and streamed down her 
 lean cheeks and her body heaved. 
 
 Dave's countenance during this recital had become 
 severe. His jaws squared and his eyes grew dark. 
 Suddenly he leaned forward and caught her by the 
 shoulders, and, with a powerful grip, steadied her rock- 
 ing body. " Aunt Martha," he asked, looking sternly 
 into the tear-blurred, bloodshot eyes, " did Sam do 
 this thing?" 
 
 She freed herself, and the dim eyes flashed as she 
 threw up both arms. " Befo' de livin' Gaud, Marse 
 Dave, he didn't! Sam er thief, only Gaud knows how 
 dat is, Sam er thief, but he wouldn't hurt de hair of 
 no white chile dat breathe de breaf of life! Ain't 
 Marse Ran, en Miss Helen done raised him ? " She 
 looked almost triumphantly for a moment into his 
 searching eyes and then went on : " Times is hard en 
 he done strayed, but he ain't never blackened his soul 
 like dat, en I knows it ! " 
 
 Dave had caught the flash of truth and the trium- 
 phant look born of the mother's pride and sincerity,
 
 A LIFE AT STAKE 121 
 
 and after holding her gaze for an instant, he exclaimed, 
 excitedly, " Aunt Martha, I believe you ! " 
 
 For a moment there was a breathless pause while the 
 worshipful eyes of the old slave still looked into the 
 trusting ones of the young man, and then she caught his 
 hands. 
 
 " Gaud bless you, Marse Dave, Gaud bless you ; I 
 know'd you'd believe ole Martha what your angel 
 grandma taught never ter tell er lie ! I knowed you'd 
 b'lieve me ! But dat ain't all, Marse Dave, I wants you 
 ter go wid me ter help me save my boy! Dey still 
 huntin' him in de woods round ole Martin Jorden's 
 plantation. But Sam done worked dar harvest time, 
 ever since he knowed how ter talk, en knowed every 
 inch er ground en every tree on de place, en every hid- 
 in' hole, so he 'scaped 'em, en night before larst at free 
 o'clock in de mornin' he knock on de window pane. I 
 knowed 'twas him afore I heard him callin' low like, 
 ' mother, mother,' en I knowed thar was trouble. I 
 got up en open de do' soft, en he come in an' fell down 
 on de flo' like er dog tired out from huntin'. Dey'd 
 been houndin' him four nights en days, en he ain't never 
 had er mouthful ter eat," a child-like look crossed her 
 features, " but my boy got home, my boy got home ter 
 me!" 
 
 She buried her face sobbing, and Dave allowed her 
 a moment to compose herself. 
 
 " Well ? " he asked finally, his voice cutting the still- 
 ness. 
 
 Martha changed her kneeling position to a seat on 
 the floor at his feet. 
 
 " He was well-nigh starved," she exclaimed, " his 
 clothes was harf torn off'n him, en he done fall off 
 twell I hardly knowed him. Sam's so big, Marse
 
 122 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 Dave," she said wistfully, " en seein' his great bones 
 most skeered me. I got him sumfin to eat, en when he 
 done et it, all de time lookin' round en listenin', he tole 
 me how I got ter hide him. So I put him down in de 
 cellar, wid er mattress en er quilt, en fur two days I 
 kyard his victuals ter him, but now I feared, kase last 
 night ole Catlin Jefferson say dey sure guine git track 
 uv him, en when dey do, dey guine come dar en take 
 him out en tear him ter pieces. I done shet up de 
 house same ez nobody dar, en I wants you ter go back 
 wid me, Marse Dave, and guard de do' ! " 
 
 Her brown face grew ashen and her voice was al- 
 most a shriek as she continued : " Lord, Gaud, Marse 
 Dave, let'm put him in prison, let'm hang him if dey 
 got ter, but don't let'm tear my boy ter pieces ! " she 
 clasped her hardened hands and stared up at him. " I 
 come fur you ter go wid me en stand guard over de 
 house en keep'm back. 'Tain't nobody but you ken 
 save him ! " 
 
 "Aunt Martha, stand up!" 
 
 She dragged herself to her feet at his command, and, 
 still a little dazed by drink, looked squarely at him. 
 
 Dave lifted his right hand. 
 
 " Do you swear by the living God and my grand- 
 mother, who was as a mother to you, that you believe 
 Sam innocent of this crime?" 
 
 With a sublime look upon her face she, one of the 
 martyred ones of her time, lifted up her two hands and 
 took her oath. 
 
 " I does, Marse Dave," she cried in a loud voice, " I 
 swear befo' de livin' Gaud en Mistiss I b'lieve my boy 
 ain't done dis thing! " 
 
 " Then I'll go with you, Aunt Martha," said Dave,
 
 A LIFE AT STAKE 123 
 
 his voice choked by emotion, his eyes gleaming with 
 grim determination, " and they will take Sam over 
 my dead body ! " 
 
 He took up his slouch hat that lay on the table, and 
 the two wandered forth together.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 THE FREEDMAN'S INHERITANCE 
 
 NOT a word passed between them as they strode 
 rapidly through the sunny streets, each filled with anx- 
 ious thoughts. 
 
 The day was perfect but momentarily growing hot- 
 ter. Already the sun began to burn through one's 
 clothing. 
 
 As was Dave's habit, he took off his hat and swung 
 it in his hand as he walked along, leaving exposed the 
 classic head, with its thick, glistening hair. One saw 
 in this glaring daylight the beauty and strength of the 
 face, with its touch of sadness that lent to it a noble 
 pathos. It was the sadness peculiar to the Southern 
 countenance of that day; a remnant of the sadness that 
 had swept like a cloud over thousands of heroic souls 
 on the day of Lee's surrender and left its impression. 
 
 The hour was soon after breakfast, and the inhabi- 
 tants, idle by nature, were not yet settled down to the 
 tasks of the day. The streets and front yards were 
 gay. Pretty women in sunbonnets, some with an old 
 negro at their heels, were digging and looking after 
 flowers in the yards ; some were cutting them. Young 
 girls were in groups ; some reading aloud to each other, 
 having assumed affectionate positions ; some idle, given 
 up to that indolent repose so natural to them; some 
 were embroidering and others were working in human 
 hair, making watch-chains, bracelets, and brooches, 
 which were the fashion of the day. Groups of chil- 
 
 124
 
 THE FREEDMAN'S INHERITANCE 125 
 
 dren were busy about the gates or on the sidewalks with 
 their " memory strings," which consisted of a collec- 
 tion of buttons of various colors and descriptions, each 
 one attempting to have the longest string, and who- 
 ever had the most Confederate buttons had the most 
 valuable. Several ran up to beg a button. He ab- 
 sently touched their sunny heads or smiled at them 
 without replying, and went on. 
 
 The walk was quite a long one, and when they 
 reached the narrow quarter of the city where old Mar- 
 tha had her little shanty of a home, they found it 
 swarmed with a motley crowd of negroes. 
 
 Martha's terror returned. She would have shrieked 
 but Dave grasped her by the arm, commanded silence, 
 and they pushed on through the crowd, which increased 
 each moment. 
 
 Men, women, and children were issuing from their 
 wretched abodes from all quarters. There must have 
 been already assembled some hundreds, and they kept 
 increasing in numbers, as though, beneath the rear of 
 the house, the earth had opened to supply them. They 
 were hatless, and the younger ones, male and female, 
 for the better part, shoeless. Their costumes were 
 grotesque; some almost in rags were, like old Martha, 
 neat. These were the older ones, but many, the ma- 
 jority, were dirty, as though their wretched clothing 
 had been worn night and day for weeks. Shining 
 black skins shone through the rents in their attire. 
 Girls had on waists and skirts that parted at the waist- 
 line, showing the flesh; little urchins held up their 
 ragged trousers with bits of wood for buttons, and 
 many a bare shoulder protruded from coarse yellow 
 cotton shirts. Women held their babies to their naked 
 breasts, unabashed, and allowed the children that could
 
 126 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 walk, and who were scarcely clothed at all, to cling to 
 their skirts. Cur dogs ran in and out of the crowd or 
 sat on the small porches looking astonished. 
 
 The eyes of this motley band of freed half-savages 
 expressed little. They stared vacantly or rolled about 
 from side to side sullenly. Their thick lips were parted 
 expectantly, and Dave seemed to feel the half -con- 
 quered passions of these partly civilized creatures ready 
 to burst forth. All the bloodshed that had brought 
 about the conditions that faced him pressed upon him 
 and gripped at his heart. For one moment his mind 
 traveled to the sunny past, but a great loneliness at- 
 tacked him as of the world itself lost and he quickly 
 returned to the present, the present with its horrors, 
 its crimes, its poverty, its demoralization, its lost souls, 
 its restless women. 
 
 All the noble aspirations that patient forbearing men 
 had expended on these black beings, all the thoughts 
 of virtuous, gentle women, many of whom had given 
 up their lives to making God-fearing Christians of them 
 had, as it were, vanished to the four winds of heaven, 
 and the evil that had been eliminated by care and faith- 
 ful watching seemed now gathered in a great cloud 
 ready to burst and shower down what it had accumu- 
 lated that it might be reincarnated. 
 
 He felt ready for miracles of horror. If flames had 
 burst through the earth, burning the feet and igniting 
 the clothing of this forsaken people, it would not have 
 surprised him. 
 
 A great pity filled his heart for them, these poor 
 slaves, who had been cared for with affection, and who 
 had been cruelly ignored. He recognized what a weary 
 thing is the progress of humanity under the best con- 
 ditions what a hopeless thing under conditions like
 
 THE FREEDMAN'S INHERITANCE 
 
 these. He saw no hope on the faces about him, and 
 all soul progress seemed suspended. Each countenance 
 betrayed ignorance and rank lust. Pride had become 
 practically extinguished in these abandoned beings, and 
 he knew that without pride in himself man must fall. 
 The awful pathos of it gripped him. He longed to 
 be the captain of these poor creatures, to gather them 
 all, the ragged, the hungry, the brutal, the misdirected, 
 the evil as well as the good, into an army and lead them 
 forth from their unjust punishment and the darkness 
 of their awful present. Oh ! that he could sweep away 
 their ignorance, efface their want, loose the chains of 
 error and superstition that bound them! 
 
 He grew older and almost majestic as these imagina- 
 tive thoughts traveled through his brain. 
 
 Many recognized him and extended greetings such 
 as " Dar Marse Dave," " Marse Dave done come," or 
 "Howdy, Marster?" 
 
 He said nothing in return, as he had said nothing 
 to the little children drawn to him as he passed 
 through the streets. But a great love was in his 
 heart for them. Out of his little he had never re- 
 fused help to any black man or woman who had 
 ever come to him in trouble; he was here to help 
 one now, and the thought swept joy through his veins. 
 Suddenly he lost sight of the depravity that hunger 
 and fear and desperate times had left upon these faces ; 
 he did not even see the filth and squalor they existed 
 in ; he forgot the evil passions that might so easily be 
 aroused. To him they were the poor " niggers " whom 
 the South was unable to do for any longer. For one 
 instant a tear flashed in the fine eye, but the next the 
 head was lifted higher, a strong control was put upon 
 the features and the step became firmer. A stranger
 
 128 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 arriving on the scene might have taken him for a new 
 prophet. 
 
 Martha, whom the excitement and long walk had 
 partly sobered, was ecstatic. She seemed to have for- 
 gotten her son's danger in the knowledge that he had 
 a protector. Pride was in her step, adoration in her 
 half-lifted face as she kept close by his side or followed 
 at his heels. 
 
 Suddenly a sharp voice called out, " Dey comin' ! " 
 But no one took it up, and for a while the suppressed 
 emotions of the excited mob continued. 
 
 At last, however, as though their smoldering feel- 
 ings had begun to stifle them, there were sounds of 
 mutterings and sudden exclamations. One old woman, 
 half in her dotage, dragged herself up on one of the 
 higher porches and cried out as though the matter had 
 been pondered and finally understood, " Who comin' ? 
 Dat what I ax who comin' ? " 
 
 Her voice was a cracked wail, and all eyes turned 
 upon her. Her throat and lean chest were bare, and 
 her old wrinkled face, with its blurred eyes and tan- 
 gled silvery hair, had the look of a maniac. She had 
 on a ragged calico dress and a more ragged apron cov- 
 ered the front of it. The skirt of the dress was short 
 and showed her stockingless feet in a pair of man's 
 shoes. Her eyes began to give out a dull flame, and 
 there was something heroic in her wild, fearless atti- 
 tude. 
 
 "What de Bible say?" she cried out. "Don't it 
 say dat de sun shall shine on de black ez well ez de 
 white?" 
 
 " Praise de Lord ! " shouted back an enormous black 
 woman, pushing her way through the crowd and throw- 
 ing up her arms.
 
 THE FREEDMAN'S INHERITANCE 129 
 
 " Dat right, sister Susan," called an aged man, " en 
 He right heah in de midst. He stand by de thief en 
 de soul in trouble ez well ez dem dat ridin' high ! " 
 
 " Heah now," shouted the giantess, " heah now ! 
 Uncle Martin done spoke ! " 
 
 " Dey comin', dough," shouted an urchin, " en dey 
 guine tear Sam Washington limb from limb en burn'm 
 er-live!" 
 
 The mob again responded, and old 'Brosia, growing 
 more excited, repeated in a loud voice : " Dey comin', 
 is dey? Who comin' ? Dat what I ax? En how 
 dey comin' ? Wid dey knives en pistols en dey light- 
 wood knots, is dey? Dey talkin' moughty proud 'bout 
 tearin' niggers ter pieces en burn'm er-live ! " She 
 raised aloft her bony fist and shook it. " Let'm come; 
 dey fin' out sumfin too ! " 
 
 " Dat dey will, Aunt 'Brosia, dey fine out sumfin 
 moughty quick, too ! " called back old Martin. 
 
 She laughed with diabolical delight at the response 
 to her words. " Sposen," she shouted in a still higher 
 key, " dat when dey gets heah evy nigger in dis gang 
 fling er flatiron at de heads, what den ? " 
 
 " Den dey see sumfin ! " Susan returned, and a 
 burst of guffaw laughter followed from the crowd. 
 
 She now raised both bony arms. " I don tole you 
 what de Bible say ! " 
 
 The mob responded with grunts and amens, and 
 without another word and with a half-absent look in 
 her colorless eyes, she descended as though nothing had 
 happened, and took her stand with the rest. 
 
 During this outburst Dave said nothing. He be- 
 gan to feel penetrating him the ignorance and evil 
 feelings of these dark-skinned beings about him. The 
 old woman nearing her hundredth year was as logical
 
 130 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 a mouthpiece as existed in their midst. He walked 
 on through the crowd that grew denser each moment, 
 and finally reached Martha's home. Mounting the few 
 steps he took his stand on the small porch, with his 
 back to the door he had come to guard. 
 
 It was now nearly noon, and the sun beat down hot- 
 ter than ever. It had not rained for days, and the 
 small trees above the heads of the people were dust- 
 covered and drooping. In the many yards which pre- 
 sented themselves to his gaze sun-flowers, tiger-lilies, 
 and many coarse but gorgeous plants bloomed trium- 
 phantly. And there were flowers interspersed, ver- 
 benas that trailed upon the ground, cabbage roses of 
 thick clumsiness, others of violent scarlet and a few 
 white ones that looked sick and pallid and served to 
 bring out the vividness of the rest. 
 
 Lines of laundry work, done for the whites, hung 
 motionless in the rear or at the sides of the houses and 
 upon the palings were patched quilts and red flannel 
 and other garments, all giving a dazzling, barbaric 
 effect to the scene. And not a cloud was in the sky, 
 which was clear and blue as a sapphire.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 LYNCH LAW 
 
 ALL of a sudden there was a clatter of horses' hoofs 
 and six horsemen, unmindful of life or death, dashed 
 through the mob, and, throwing their horses on their 
 haunches, reined up before Aunt Martha's home. 
 
 What riders they were and what a handsome, daring 
 set, young and dashing; just the same sort of gallant 
 reckless youths that twenty years ago had plunged 
 madly into battle, and of whom nothing was now left 
 but a turfed mound, and the spirit that lived in such 
 as these! 
 
 " What are you doing here, Dave Lee? " 
 
 " Standing guard over Sam Washington," Dave 
 thundered back, his voice charged with excitement. 
 He had taken off his coat, and was standing in front 
 of the frail door, his arms outstretched and fastened 
 against it as though nailed. 
 
 " Get out of the way, Dave; we're going to have that 
 nigger!" 
 
 " Not unless he is the right nigger, boys ; you've got 
 to be sure of that first ! " 
 
 " We don't want to hurt you, Dave, but we tell you 
 once more to get away from that door get out of 
 the way. We want that nigger, and we are going to 
 have him! " 
 
 " Not unless he is the right nigger," repeated Dave. 
 " How do you know he is the man you want ? You 
 don't know it, and as long as you don't, he is under my
 
 132 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 protection, and the only way you can lay hands on him 
 is over my dead body ! " 
 
 " Dar now ! " shouted Uncle Martin, and the negroes 
 broke into cheers. 
 
 " Deliver up that nigger, Dave ; we give you one 
 more chance," and a pistol came in sight from a hip 
 pocket. 
 
 For an instant the pallor of death spread over Dave's 
 face, but except for that he might have been a piece 
 of marble. Suddenly his eyes flashed and he sprang 
 forward. " Put up that pistol, Kennon Fleming! 
 You're not facing an enemy, boys," he cried, " and be- 
 fore you commit murder listen to me! You've been 
 on this hunt for days and nights, you're tired out, 
 probably hungry. Some of you have been drinking 
 and are half drunk. Your nerves are dulled. I see 
 it in your faces. You are ready to even commit a 
 crime to be through with this job, but I'm not going to 
 stand by and let you do it! If I thought Sam Wash- 
 ington was your man, how long do you think it would 
 take me to hand him over to you ? You all know me, 
 and you know just how long! Sam Washington may 
 be guilty, I'm not prepared to swear he isn't, but I be- 
 lieve he is innocent, and as long as I do, he is my pris- 
 oner so long as I can hold him, and not yours ! I know 
 things look black for Sam! I know he is a thief; I 
 know he broke out of jail ; I know he was seen in the 
 neighborhood of this crime you're attempting to 
 avenge, but I don't believe he had any more to do with 
 that crime than you or me! I'm not afraid of you! 
 There isn't a man among you who will dare lay hands 
 on me or Sam Washington either! Why? Because 
 you don't know he is your man ! " 
 
 Dave's electrified appearance and the effect of his
 
 LYNCH LAW 133 
 
 oratory were magical. The negroes stared aghast and 
 the men he was appealing to weakened. Suddenly 
 they seemed to realize that it was David Lee whom 
 they were facing, and not an opposing force. 
 
 " You shoulder the responsibility, Dave," Fleming 
 cried out, lowering his pistol ; " it's on you, remem- 
 ber?" 
 
 " Certainly ! " Dave cried. 
 
 " Then we had as well continue our search elsewhere, 
 boys. It's Dave's nigger, anyway. He's got the right 
 to stand by him and see that he gets fair play ! Come 
 on!" 
 
 Plunging their spurs into their horses, they turned 
 and dashed away through the crowd, scattering them 
 helter-skelter. 
 
 All the while this scene had been enacted old Martha 
 was standing by the little pillar to the porch, her eyes 
 fixed on Dave as upon an apparition. Suddenly she 
 threw up her arms. Fearing an hysterical scene, Dave 
 turned to her, a sharp command in his voice. 
 
 " Aunt Martha, go and tell Sam to come up here. 
 We've got to turn him over to these two gentlemen." 
 He motioned to two policemen who had arrived upon 
 the scene. 
 
 Giving one look in his face to reassure herself, Mar- 
 tha took a key from her pocket, opened the frail door 
 and entered the house. 
 
 When she finally led Sam forth, exclamations and 
 ejaculations broke forth anew from the mob, such as 
 " Umph ! " " Dar now ! " " Praise de Lord ! " 
 
 Martha stood in silence beside her son, her face, 
 tranquillized by love and gratitude, shining upon them 
 all with a radiance that was hardly of the world. In 
 her look was pride, pride in this great black thief who
 
 134 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 was her son, and who in spite of the fact of his rags, 
 might easily be imagined as an expatriated African 
 Prince. 
 
 Towering a full head above his fellows, with clean, 
 straight limbs and a body pliant and graceful as a 
 deer's, he stood dazed, docile and helpless, still terrified, 
 but also with a look of relief on his tortured coun- 
 tenance. For some moments not a word was spoken, 
 and the poor hounded, half -starved creature looked 
 about him absently till his eyes rested in Dave's. Then 
 tears gathered and rolled in broad streams down the 
 shiny black cheeks. " Thankee, Marse Dave," he said. 
 
 Dave went up to him and laid one hand kindly upon 
 his shoulder. " Sam," he said gently, " I've got to 
 send you back to prison ; when you come out, try to be 
 a good man. Gentlemen," he then added quietly to the 
 two officers, " take your prisoner." 
 
 As the handcuffs were clasped upon Sam's wrists 
 and they led him away, Page, who had been hidden be- 
 hind the giant form of the negress Helen, leaped to 
 the porch to Dave's side.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 HANDS ON THE BIBLE 
 
 FOR one moment Dave stared at her dumb-struck, 
 and then he almost swung her into the open door. 
 Martha followed them quickly, closed it and stood, 
 also in amazement, looking on. 
 
 " What are you doing here, Page? " demanded Dave, 
 breathlessly. 
 
 " I was coming with this bundle it's sewing for 
 Aunt Martha I often come to bring her work. 
 When I got here I saw the crowd and thought there 
 was a fire I heard those men arriving on horseback 
 and thought at first it was the fire-engines. Then they 
 rushed past me, and I recognized them and saw a look 
 on their faces that terrified me. I saw Uncle Martin 
 and asked him what the trouble was, and he told me 
 that you were here guarding Sam, and that your life 
 was in danger! I ran, pushing everybody out of my 
 way! I heard your voice speaking to the men and I 
 stopped, out of sight of you, to listen! I saw Kennon 
 Fleming take out his pistol, and I thought I was going 
 to faint! For a moment I did lose consciousness, I 
 believe, for I found old Helen was holding me up. I 
 got behind her then told her to hide me but I 
 could see you! All the while you were speaking my 
 eyes were on your face! Dave! Dave! They might 
 have killed you ! " 
 
 " You might have been killed yourself ! " Dave cried. 
 
 " Suppose there had been a riot here ! You should 
 
 i3S
 
 136 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 have gone back when you saw the crowd ! You might 
 have been trampled to death under the feet of horses ! 
 God only knows what might not have happened ! " 
 
 " Naw, naw," old Martha cried, springing forward 
 excitedly. Her face was shining in rapture, and she 
 clapped her hands. " Naw, naw, Gaud was here, en 
 He wan't guine to let nothin' happen! Wan't you 
 savin' Sam? I'm glad de chile happened here; glad 
 she come; glad she seen you ez I did, and heard yo' 
 words! Dey been tellin' me, Miss Page standin' out 
 'gainst yo' love ! She kyarnt do dat no more now since 
 she done see you ez er man ! She got ter love you now 
 en give herself in yo' hands. Ain't you, honey? 
 Lord, Lord, Miss Page, take his love, chile, take et 
 now, right here from to-day! 'Tain't nothin' I ken 
 do but fall down on my knees to him ! " She did so as 
 she spoke. " All I ken do is ter bless his name ; but you 
 ken make him happy all his days ! " 
 
 She sprang up and raised her arms, her face still 
 shining in joy and adoration ! " Take him, honey, 
 yes, yes, let yo' heart fly out right into his'n ! Ain't he 
 grand, ain't he noble looking, just like old Marse, jess 
 like old Marse! En he loves you jess like old Marse 
 loved Mistiss. Everything she done was right ; every- 
 thing she say was Gospel; every time she come whar 
 he was he look up en de sun come into his eyes ! When 
 he was dyin' and she went up to de bed, he look up at 
 her and dat same light was shining! Heah, honey, 
 heah ! " She turned and hunting in a little cupboard 
 in the corner, she brought forth an old Bible. 
 
 " This heah de Bible she give me ! Put both your 
 hands on it and be jined in love! 'Tain't nothin' else 
 for you, Miss Page, but to take his love ! " 
 
 She stretched forth the Bible.
 
 HANDS ON THE BIBLE 137 
 
 Dave, with a flash of tears in his eyes, laid his hand 
 upon it. 
 
 " Page! " he breathed in an awe-struck voice. She 
 paused, advanced, laid her hand beside his, and their 
 eyes met. 
 
 Old Martha, overcome by the scene and all she had 
 been through, let go her hold on the Bible, staggered 
 over to a little rush-bottomed chair, dropped in it and 
 hid her face in her hands, sobbing. 
 
 A moment later, with her free hand, Page made a 
 sign to Dave to leave. 
 
 He did so, and she sprang to the old woman and 
 knelt down before her. " Look up, Aunt Martha," 
 she said, " I am with you ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 A SACRIFICE REVEALED 
 
 EXCEPT for some children and a few groups of men, 
 who had remained to talk over the event of the day, 
 Dave found the little street, when he stepped from 
 Aunt Martha's porch, deserted. Peace had been re- 
 stored, and all had turned to the routine of daily life. 
 Smoke had begun to ascend from the low, dilapidated 
 chimneys, the sound of the washtub and the well- 
 bucket could be heard, and the aroma of boiling cab- 
 bage, frying bacon and baking corn bread was in the 
 air. 
 
 Dave had many encounters and conversations when 
 he reached the streets. He missed his dinner, and 
 when he finally arrived home, darkness was coming on. 
 He was greeted upon opening the front door with a 
 faint sweet odor of pipe-smoke, and, as Uncle Ran 
 never smoked, he knew there had been company. 
 
 He was passing by on his way to his room when his 
 uncle, with a stern accent, in which he strove to conceal 
 his weakness for the youth, called him. 
 
 This enforced severity on the part of his uncle al- 
 ways stirred Dave like a caress, and with a half smile 
 and that alacrity with which he had been taught to obey 
 his elders, he went immediately. 
 
 Taking his stand for a moment in the doorway, his 
 mind teeming with the events of the day, his heart un- 
 usually light and full of hope concerning Page, it 
 
 138
 
 A SACRIFICE REVEALED 139 
 
 seemed to him that the scene before him was one al- 
 ready stored away as a memory. 
 
 Uncle Ran, in his old, loose-fitting sack suit, powerful 
 and serene, was seated in his ponderous armchair be- 
 side the table upon which was, apparently, the accumu- 
 lation, in the way of books and papers, of years. For 
 a moment he faced reality only as a part of the scene. 
 He had been seeing Uncle Ran seated thus all his life, 
 in the same attitude, backed by the same old wall where 
 Launcelot was riding away from Guinivere through a 
 forest of autumn leaves. Always Uncle Ran was 
 seated here, always Launcelot was riding away, and 
 always Guinivere was standing with bowed head, sad 
 and demure. 
 
 Fresh from action, quickened by his own power as a 
 speaker, the unchangeableness and calm monotony and 
 all the things about his daily life for a moment stag- 
 gered him. He put aside this feeling and entered. 
 
 " You've had an exciting day ? " remarked Uncle 
 Ran. 
 
 " I have," Dave smiled, taking his stand beside the 
 table. " Who's been telling you ? " 
 
 " Mr. Meredith ! He was here this afternoon." 
 
 " Of Meredith and Freeland? " asked Dave quickly, 
 as he took his seat. 
 
 " Yes. He has been hearing something from some- 
 body he said he heard you made a pretty fiery 
 speech to the boys ! " 
 
 " Well, I had to," Dave laughed, " with a pistol lev- 
 eled at me by a half-drunken man; besides, I'm sure 
 Sam is guiltless of this crime ! " he added. 
 
 " So am I ! Mr. Meredith is very much broken up 
 over the death of Mr. Freeland." 
 
 " I can well understand that, sir," exclaimed Dave,
 
 140 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 " they've been friends and colleagues many years." 
 
 " We had a long talk about old times and about Bob 
 and his fine character. Bob Freeland was one of Na- 
 ture's noblemen, if ever there was one, but what Mr. 
 Meredith really came to see me about was yourself! " 
 
 " Me ? " asked Dave, surprised. 
 
 " Yes, he said that he was getting old, needed new 
 strength and brains and youth for the firm and wanted 
 to know what I thought of the idea of Meredith and 
 Lee!" 
 
 " Uncle Ran ! " Dave had leaped to his feet. 
 
 " I told him I liked the idea very well. Sit down, 
 son." 
 
 A flush sprang into Dave's face as he re-seated him- 
 self. 
 
 "Yes, Uncle Ran?" 
 
 " I think it will be arranged, Dave, if the idea appeals 
 to you. He doesn't offer very much money in the be- 
 ginning, but it's enough for you to live on and the rest 
 is with you, Dave. When did you see Page ? " 
 
 " I saw her to-day, Uncle Ran ! " 
 
 " Well, now, I'm going to talk a little about myself." 
 
 He paused and Dave answered respectfully, " Yes, 
 sir?" 
 
 After cutting off a piece of tobacco with an old pen- 
 knife, rolling it in the palm of his hands and then plac- 
 ing it in his mouth, Uncle Ran replied: 
 
 " For a long time, Dave, I've been wanting to take 
 old Hiram and go to the little farm my brother left 
 me, in Amelia County. I want to get to the heart of 
 nature once more and see if I can't feel," Uncle 
 Ran's smile was but the ghost of one, " a boy again 
 for the rest of my life. Some people have one passion, 
 some another, and mine seems to be to get right in
 
 A SACRIFICE REVEALED 141 
 
 among those seventeen oak trees that surround the lit- 
 tle house and hear the acorns fall. Everything about 
 those trees, from their just standing bare and leafless, 
 to the time they put out their first leaves and on to 
 acorn time, seems to have gotten on my mind. And 
 the old well, and the spring at the foot of the hill 
 everything up there that was a part of my boyhood. 
 I've been thinking about it, as I just said, for a long 
 time." 
 
 Uncle Ran's voice grew a bit unsteady, and Dave 
 thought his hand trembled. " I want to get to the 
 country, my boy ; I'm an old man ; I want a few years 
 there where I can just sit and think about old times. 
 My work ended in this life to-day, Dave, and from now 
 on, I want to be an onlooker of God's Virginia, not 
 man's ! The Richmond our fathers made doesn't exist 
 
 any more for those like me, hasn't since those d n 
 
 Yankees set foot here ! " 
 
 The powerful old form lifted itself slowly, and Uncle 
 Ran, somewhat resembling the old oaks his heart 
 craved, rose to his feet. 
 
 " But I couldn't, you see," he said, " until you were 
 launched." 
 
 Dave also arose, and for an instant they stood gaz- 
 ing into each other's eyes with passionate tenderness. 
 
 " Uncle Ran," Dave exclaimed in a clear but choking 
 voice, " you've been living all these years for me ! " 
 
 " Something like it, Dave."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 STRUGGLES IN NEW CONDITIONS 
 
 THE next few days the weather was rainy, a bit raw 
 and chill a cold June spell. But on the morning of 
 Emily's wedding day it was altogether different 
 clear, with a strong fresh wind blowing. 
 
 June was well advanced, and Page arose at seven 
 o'clock and, taking a hurried breakfast, started out to 
 the market to secure the kind of flowers she needed to 
 finish her decorations of the altar in the church, where 
 the ceremony was to occur at twelve o'clock. She 
 carried a large basket on her arm and wore her straw 
 hat with the pink roses, and her sweet face was as fresh 
 as the summer day she faced. 
 
 Her heart was sad for Emily going bravely to her 
 doom, for Page felt it was that, and she had received, 
 also the day before, a dismal letter from Fielding that 
 had greatly affected her. 
 
 But Page, now that the marriage was a foregone 
 conclusion, tried to cheer herself. A marriage was a 
 marriage after all, and certainly Emily, from a finan- 
 cial standpoint, was doing well. 'Twas true Robert 
 Hughes' father had been a butcher Page winced at 
 this and Robert himself when a little chap had worn 
 his little butcher's apron and helped his father around 
 the stalls. But that was some years ago, and now Rob- 
 ert was at the head of the largest grocery store in 
 Richmond and thoroughly respected. Everyone spoke 
 well of Robert Hughes. " What a fine fellow," Page 
 
 142
 
 STRUGGLES IN NEW CONDITIONS 143 
 
 consoled herself by thinking as she went along, " he 
 had always been ! " She tried to feel that she was very 
 gay, and the effort brought the color to her cheeks and 
 the sparkle to her eyes. She walked rapidly, glancing 
 into the yards where people were busy with their flow- 
 ers and up at the glistening trees and blue sky upon 
 which white, billowy clouds were beginning to sail 
 about restlessly. 
 
 The atmosphere was clear as yellow wine, and, as 
 the day advanced, the breezes became soft and voluptu- 
 ous. It was growing warm. The day reminded Page 
 of one, long dead now, when she and David Lee, little 
 strangers in the world she scarcely seven had 
 looked out, and found it wondrous. Dave loved her 
 then ; he loved her now his love had always been 
 hers like a possession, a jewel, to be worn or not, as 
 she liked. She indulged the new vision of him when 
 he had saved Sam and felt new pride in him. 
 
 The scene that greeted her when she reached the 
 market place was one dear to her eyes. She always 
 looked upon it as one looks upon a shifting scene upon 
 the stage. It was a moving scene, for the figures in it 
 were mostly old, and they were rapidly drifting to 
 what they called " the kingdom come." 
 
 They were the colored people from the country, old 
 men and women, who came in before daylight each day, 
 and took their places on the sidewalk outside the mar- 
 ket proper with their wares. These wares consisted of 
 flowers, mostly wild, tied in rude bunches with cotton 
 strings, and onions and lettuce, and other vegetables. 
 Here they stood around the market, some fat, some 
 tall and lean, some decrepit, some gray-haired, and all, 
 each one, grotesquely costumed. The bandanna tur- 
 ban, could be seen on men and women, but not a
 
 144 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 whole shoe among the lot. The women mostly wore 
 gingham aprons and stood with hands clasped over 
 their stomachs ready for a word, and especially ready 
 for a joke, which pleased them all the better if a 
 double-meaning was involved. 
 
 Page knew many of these good old souls, and not 
 one ever failed to question her as to " when she was 
 guine git married." Marriage in the eyes of these 
 simple beings was the all important event of a lady's 
 life, the pivot upon which all turned. The men in- 
 variably complimented her. They told her she " sure 
 was growin' pretty," or she was " jess like her ma, the 
 beautifullest creature what ever drew breath," and 
 sometimes Page, who loved all tales of the past, would 
 stop to listen, and they entertained her with not only 
 interesting, but beautiful stories. They invariably 
 contrasted the present unfavorably with the past and 
 the pathetic expressions in some of the fine old faces, 
 rapidly growing careworn, was most touching. 
 
 These poor redeemed savages were not ambitious, 
 and attached little importance to what they had to sell ; 
 they expected to make only a few pennies, which they 
 would invest at sundown in bacon, a little sugar and 
 coffee, and start forth to reach home by bed-time. 
 Some of them came ten miles on foot, thinking nothing 
 of the journey, and others came in some kind of an old 
 wagon, with a broken-down horse that never went out 
 of a walk. 
 
 The picture of them vanishing into the night, taking 
 various roads to their many little cabins built all about 
 in woods, often rose before Page, and she would stand 
 among them wondering what kind of markets in later 
 years would be in Richmond, and what kind of build- 
 ings would be on the spot where to-day these dear old
 
 STRUGGLES IN NEW CONDITIONS 145 
 
 souls congregated with their fruits and berries or sim- 
 ple wild flowers to make a little money to keep body 
 and soul together, and to chat and gossip among them- 
 selves or with the whites. To her it seemed they were 
 very interesting, for she knew when they were gone 
 there would be no more like them in Richmond or on 
 the face of the earth. 
 
 Page bought the flowers and was starting to the 
 church when she ran into an old friend. As they ap- 
 proached each other a flush rose to his face, and he 
 looked across the street, and had she not called out to 
 him, he would have passed her without speaking. 
 
 " Well ! " Page exclaimed, " is this how you are go- 
 ing to pass me by? " 
 
 He stopped; the flush had faded; he was pale and 
 tears gushed to his eyes. He took her outstretched 
 hand in a sharp grasp. " Miss Page," he said, his 
 voice faltering, " I did not know whether you were 
 going to speak to me or not. Many of the young 
 ladies have cut me." 
 
 " Ned ! " Page exclaimed, and her own eyes filled. 
 Poor, brave, handsome fellow, he had come near starv- 
 ation last year and had accepted a position as principal 
 of a public school, a negro public school for boys. 
 
 " Do you think I don't hate it ? " he burst out, brush- 
 ing the back of his hand across his eyes. 
 
 They walked on, both silent, and before they had 
 gone many blocks, two people had turned their heads 
 so as not to see him. He was terribly in disgrace, was 
 this gallant young Southerner. Finally he spoke and 
 told Page excitedly all about it. How the place had 
 been offered him, how he had indignantly refused it, 
 and went home and found his mother hungry, and how 
 he had got down on his knees before he went to bed that
 
 146 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 night and prayed to God to tell him what to do in the 
 matter. " And Miss Page," he continued, " as surely 
 as you and I are alive to-day, God told me to do this 
 thing, and I'm going to do it as long as I can hold my 
 job and do my duty by the niggers, too! " 
 
 " I know you are, Ned ! " Page answered in a choked 
 voice. 
 
 " It's awful, though," he went on, " apart from what 
 I'm going through socially, it's awful. You can't con- 
 ceive of the density of those little skulls. I sometimes 
 think I've got to take a hammer and crack them open 
 to get ABC into their heads." 
 
 " Oh, Ned, and what's the use? " Page asked dole- 
 fully. 
 
 " Not a bit, and that's the worst of it; that's what 
 makes it so hard to take interest in the task and to do 
 it seriously and honestly. My heart isn't in it. I know 
 if they ever learn anything, which, thank God, I don't 
 think they will, it will only make bigger fools of 
 them." 
 
 "What does Fanny say?" Page questioned cau- 
 tiously. 
 
 " That's the worst of it ; she can't forgive it ! " 
 
 " I can't believe it of Fanny ! " Fanny and Ned had 
 always been " engaged " ever since Page could re- 
 member. 
 
 " Oh, I don't blame her," broke forth the man. 
 " Her father and brothers influence her. She doesn't 
 dare stand up for me. Why, I haven't seen her in four 
 weeks, Miss Page." 
 
 " You're a brave fellow, Ned ! " 
 
 He laughed a little. " I don't believe I am," he said. 
 " I think I must be a coward, otherwise I wouldn't suf- 
 fer so. Why, it's worse than facing the Yankees to
 
 STRUGGLES IN NEW CONDITIONS 147 
 
 walk down Main street, where most of my friends and 
 my father's friends hold me in contempt." 
 
 " I am going to see Fanny and give her a piece of 
 my mind ! " exclaimed Page. 
 
 " No, don't do that, Miss Page, but tell her that I'm 
 suffering, and tell her not to forget that I did it for 
 mother. That isn't exactly a manly appeal, but it's 
 true, and I've got a right to say it to her." 
 
 " I know she loves you, Ned." 
 
 " I know it too, Miss Page." 
 
 " And she's suffering ! " 
 
 " Of course, but it was between her and mother. I 
 did what I thought was right. Why, Miss Page, moth- 
 er's health was failing. For a long time she hadn't 
 had proper food ! What else could I do ? " 
 
 " You did just right! " 
 
 " Thank you ; you're the first person I have opened 
 my lips to on the subject. Good-by, and God bless 
 you, Miss Page. Go and see mother, won't you? " 
 
 " I will ! " 
 
 He turned and left her and walked down the street, 
 his head bowed in thought, and there came into Page's 
 mind that in some respects he and she were in the same 
 boat. He had taken advantage of the new opportuni- 
 ties that offered for an independent existence : her de- 
 sire to go to New York had the same end in view. 
 Suppose she took this step, would the people cut her as 
 they had cut Ned ? 
 
 The thought frightened her, and she finally came to 
 the conclusion that no one willed things; Richmond it- 
 self and all the inhabitants were sailing along as though 
 moved by some invisible mechanism. She planted her 
 feet firmly on the sidewalk, experiencing a sense of 
 relief that it remained intact and solid.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 A MOCK CEREMONY 
 
 BY half-past eleven o'clock the church was crowded 
 and the buzz of voices suppressed but animated was 
 most audible. 
 
 The church had been charmingly decorated by Page 
 and a host of Emily's girl friends and nothing was 
 wanting to add loveliness to the old altar where Emily 
 was to be sacrificed. 
 
 There were no sad faces, even though there might 
 have been sad hearts, at this festival. All was sun- 
 shine, brightness, and beauty. The women wore flow- 
 ers on their simple gowns and the men had them 
 pinned in their button-holes. Flowers did service for 
 everything. 
 
 There were to be no bridesmaids, a simple travel- 
 ing suit, although Emily was not going traveling, hav- 
 ing been decided upon as the most inexpensive. She 
 was to appear in a mauve colored cashmere with a 
 straw hat covered in white flowers and everybody 
 knew it, also, that she was to " carry " camelias. 
 
 Page, with a beautiful flush on her face as she 
 passed Dave in the lobby, walked quickly down the 
 center aisle and took the seat reserved for her near 
 the front. Aunt Constance, in a lavender silk that 
 had performed service during the war and was as well 
 known as her delicate face, and with her hands cov- 
 ered with a pair of much darned silk mitts, had already 
 arrived and the two instantly commenced a whispered 
 
 148
 
 A MOCK CEREMONY 149 
 
 conversation. Page spread out her dress and placed 
 her bouquet on it to save a seat for her Cousin Betty 
 who finally appeared, lively enough and quite excited. 
 
 " I saw Fielding outside," she whispered as she 
 took her seat. '' He looked like Edwin Booth in Ham- 
 let, poor fellow." 
 
 " He is indeed the melancholy Dane, to-day," ex- 
 claimed Page. " I saw him too and my heart went 
 out to him. Fielding has always been my favorite 
 cousin." 
 
 "Oh! That's because he's the handsomest!" 
 Cousin Betty laughed. 
 
 " What a beautiful day it is," whispered Aunt Con- 
 stance, but a little shadow of unrest fell upon her 
 features as she added, " but these caressing days in 
 June are always the precursors of storms and it is 
 so in other things. Everything so far about Emily's 
 wedding is passing off beautifully, and yet I feel an 
 unaccountable dread in my heart as though something 
 terrible were going to happen." 
 
 " Nonsense," exclaimed Cousin Betty, " no trou- 
 ble will come to Emily. She'll accept things as her 
 mother does she's trained to believe that the word 
 husband means all that is right. You will see ! " 
 
 There w r as a sudden commotion at the door now 
 and whispers of " the bride " were exchanged. But 
 it was a false alarm and quite another wait ensued. 
 
 But at last the wedding march really burst forth 
 and Emily appeared at the entrance to the aisle lean- 
 ing on her father's arm. The groom, whose florid 
 face was pathetically white and whose stout body was 
 tragically rigid, made his appearance from the rector's 
 study and took his stand at the altar. His new 
 clothes glared out on him like fresh paint; his shoes
 
 150 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 creaked audibly and his hands seemed bursting out 
 of his white kid gloves. 
 
 Emily was pale, too, very pale, and sweet and ten- 
 der, as she went forward to lay her small hand in the 
 one bursting from its glove. 
 
 She was not pale when she came out after the cere- 
 mony. Two round scarlet spots the size of silver 
 dollars burned in her cheeks. A hush had fallen on 
 the entire congregation and all peered curiously into 
 the young face as it passed them. What thoughts and 
 feelings had burned those red spots in her cheeks? 
 Each one tried to enter her mind and find out. 
 
 The gas had burned brightly in the darkened church 
 but outside was the broad daylight. All the effects 
 of light and shade came out vividly. 
 
 Fielding, who had not witnessed the ceremony, was 
 standing on the curb. He saw the red spots in Em- 
 ily's cheeks, and she saw his sunken, haggard eyes. 
 One swift glance passed between them; then they 
 drove her away. 
 
 The day had continued to grow beautiful. All the 
 trees were swaying gently and rustling. The sky 
 was a soft gray, and upon it billowy white clouds con- 
 tinued to take majestic shapes. The atmosphere was 
 still like yellow wine, and the grass of such a vivid 
 green that it seemed about to sparkle. 
 
 It had been arranged that the family and a few 
 near relatives were to assemble at Emily's new home 
 for a kind of luncheon. They were all going there 
 now, there to the little new house where everything 
 was vulgarly new, except the old gifts that would 
 stand out pained and insulted by their surroundings. 
 Every one was realizing vaguely that Emily would 
 be there in the midst of the first new things she had
 
 A MOCK CEREMONY 151 
 
 ever known, and be it confessed some few envied 
 those that would arrive from the new grocery store. 
 
 " I hope it will be for the best," said Aunt Con- 
 stance, as she and Page sauntered along under Aunt 
 Constance's old sun umbrella, each division of which 
 was embroidered by fine little pin holes, " but I have 
 my doubts." 
 
 " Doubts ! " exclaimed Page bitterly. " There are 
 no doubts in my mind about her unhappiness. And 
 did you see poor Fielding's eyes?" 
 
 " Yes," said Aunt Constance, " I did."
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 DESPERATE CHIVALRY 
 
 ALL day Fielding Peyton roamed the streets. 
 
 Several times, a thing most unusual for him, he 
 entered a saloon and threw down a large drink of 
 whisky. Once he leaned for over an hour on the bar 
 listening absently to the conversations going on and 
 watching with a vacant stare those who came and 
 went. He did this mechanically, experiencing no 
 physical reminders. It was as though his spirit were 
 wandering aimlessly about. He did not seem to be 
 suffering but only to be experiencing absent-minded- 
 ness. He could not remember whom he had seen or 
 whether he had spoken to people. He ate nothing. 
 
 His mind was confused. He was not thinking of 
 Emily, but of all the things that had led up to to- 
 day's happenings. 
 
 A vast and mighty canvas swam before his eyes 
 that was like the heavens without a cloud and upon 
 it was painted in terrible strokes and fierce colors all 
 the tragic events of twenty years. He gazed upon 
 this powerful drama fascinated. He not only saw 
 the terrific contour but horrifying details. 
 
 One picture followed another in rapid succession. 
 First the war with all its bloody horrors rolled be- 
 fore him. He saw armies traveling slowly or trav- 
 eling quickly, their bayonets flashing in the sunlight, 
 or dull beneath a leaden sky. Then he saw these 
 armies stationary in the moonlight or half lost to sight
 
 153 
 
 in the blackness of a night unlit by moon or stars. 
 He saw rain descending upon them, or snow, or fierce 
 hail, but worst of all the heat of the sun which also 
 descended in streams. He saw pine forests riddled 
 with bullets and the ground soaked in blood, above 
 which floated flags tattered and gory. He saw the 
 shadowy forms of men and horses; the men lying on 
 their faces or with faces turned upwards; the horses 
 in grotesque positions, their heads stretched out in 
 the agony of death or their stiff legs pointing hide- 
 ously upwards. 
 
 Then these scenes would recede and he would see 
 only bare, uncultivated, grayish fields where desola- 
 tion reigned. 
 
 Once it seemed to him that women's white faces 
 appeared upon one of these bare fields and bloomed 
 upon it close to the earth like pallid flowers. He saw 
 in another picture the period that followed the war, 
 all the stagnation, inactivity, desolation, and awful 
 poverty. He saw the infamy that sprang up and the 
 struggle of his people to live under an oppression and 
 insolence worse than war because there was no hero- 
 ism to uphold them. 
 
 He saw all these things intensified as though under 
 a strong light because of one thing he loved a 
 woman and that woman was one of the victims of 
 what this kaleidoscopic picture had revealed. 
 
 Sharp realizations came to him keenly for the first 
 time, realizations that had been accepted as the dumb, 
 persecuted, overdriven animal accepts the lash. "With 
 a pang that was like the cutting of the bullet through 
 flesh, he understood that in the South a real slavery 
 had begun the traffic in white women. These 
 women who had always married for love were being
 
 154 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 sold, or, were selling themselves, for bread. His love 
 had been sold in the face and in the name of God. 
 She in whose veins flowed the refinement of genera- 
 tions, she whose heart was gentle, whose flesh was 
 tender, whose ears had never heard a coarse word, 
 whose eyes had never looked upon a coarse scene, 
 had been sold to a brute to do with as he would. He 
 saw her helplessness; her bitter tears in the silent 
 hours of the night. He heard her smothered cries of 
 terror and fear and he saw no war in her cause and 
 that no man protected her. 
 
 For a while his mind dwelt upon current things. 
 
 Daily the papers were full of the horrors of ne- 
 groes being burnt at the stake. These horrors and 
 agonies flashed by the telegraph thousands of miles, 
 caused shivers to pass through millions of people. 
 Emily was to be burnt at the stake and he was not 
 preventing it. 
 
 Emily herself appeared in the picture with laugh- 
 ter on her lips, as though to mock him. She wore 
 a wreath of wild flowers in her hair as he had seen 
 her one day standing beside a brook in the dense 
 woods. Many pictures of her appeared after this one 
 and always, as though to torture him, she was laugh- 
 ing. Even when the picture presented showed her 
 folded fast in his arms, her head was bent back and 
 she was laughing in his face. His whole frame trem- 
 bled at that maddening, joyous countenance wreathed 
 in smiles. There had been no smile in Emily's face 
 to-day when her frightened eyes met his for an in- 
 stant what he read there was childish terror and 
 piteous appeal as they whirled her away, seated beside 
 the grotesque creature who had bought her. 
 
 When it was dark, he found that he had wandered
 
 DESPERATE CHIVALRY 155 
 
 to the place where the sacrifice of Emily was to be 
 completed. The image vanished but the actual scene 
 was even more like a picture, and had, to his feverish 
 gaze, less reality. 
 
 There was a small tree directly in front of the 
 house. This tree recently set out was quite as new 
 as the house itself and its slender body was protected 
 by a delicate framework painted a pale bizarre green. 
 
 Fielding took his stand beneath the young tree and 
 began to watch the house, at first absently, as had been 
 his wont all day, but after a while eagerly, with mor- 
 bid interest, as though it was a phantom that would 
 soon vanish before his gaze. 
 
 It was a small brick house only two stories high 
 and two rooms deep. The bricks of which it was com- 
 posed were of a vivid red, separated by glaring streaks 
 of white and a narrow porch or veranda painted white 
 extended across the entire lower floor. The parlor 
 windows opened out on this porch. 
 
 The light from an old street lamp on the opposite 
 corner shone directly through the slender tree under 
 which Fielding stood and cast trembling shadows of 
 its leaves upon the house. 
 
 The scenes that Fielding had been witnessing all day 
 were masterpieces of art what he saw now 
 seemed to be gazing upon was a vulgar little 
 chromo. Gradually the details stood out. The par- 
 lor windows had been left open but the second story 
 ones were closed and the cheap white shades, against 
 which a dim light shone, were down. The parlor was 
 dark but the dining-room beyond was brightly lighted 
 and through the open folding-doors Fielding could 
 see the entire room distinctly. What was going on 
 was vivid and bright like the well-lighted stage of a
 
 156 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 theater. Emily was not present. A colored girl was 
 setting the table and he who was to perform the rites 
 of Emily's sacrifice lay the delicate flesh upon the 
 burning coals, was standing with his compact back to 
 the parlor looking out of a rear window. 
 
 For hours, it seemed to Fielding, that this scene, 
 the colored girl setting the table and the man looking 
 out of the window, was before his eyes. 
 
 Finally a little bell tinkled and a moment later Em- 
 ily entered timidly, cautiously rather, and, as the man 
 at the window turned, Fielding started. 
 
 Emily had changed her dress to a simple white mus- 
 lin. Her face was as pale as a camelia lying on a 
 coffin. She seemed during the day to have grown 
 thin to emaciation and her dress hung upon her 
 limply. On closer scrutiny her blanched features 
 seemed to Fielding those of a dead child. She walked 
 slowly towards the table and took her seat at the head 
 as one who is seating herself for the first time before 
 a prison meal. The man took his seat opposite and 
 the colored girl commenced serving the supper. Em- 
 ily ate little and toyed with the spoon in her saucer 
 while her husband, who appeared to be hungry, ate 
 heartily of the steak that he had cut knowingly and 
 with understanding of its tenderest parts with a flash- 
 ing new carving knife a wedding present and of 
 the light rolls and batter-bread. Three times Emily 
 poured tea for him and then sat waiting. Sometimes 
 she looked straight ahead of her and it seemed to 
 Fielding that their eyes met, but she would turn them 
 absently away and look startled to one side of her. 
 When the servant left the room he noticed that her 
 eyes followed her supplicatingly. 
 
 When supper was over, her husband approached
 
 DESPERATE CHIVALRY 157 
 
 her and leaning over attempted to kiss her. She 
 sprang to her feet and faced him furiously, like a 
 young animal that had been attacked, her eyes full of 
 defiance. 
 
 Fielding, whose own eyes seemed suddenly to be- 
 come streams of light that touched the objects they 
 rested upon, stared at the man whose gaze of helpless 
 astonishment was fixed upon Emily. 
 
 His appearance filled him with disgust. He was a 
 blond man, not tall, and of a solid stout build. Field- 
 ing suddenly remembered that his mother was a Ger- 
 man woman and how her red cheeks had made an 
 impression on his childish mind. Her son was like 
 her and wore his flaxen hair, the color of her own, in 
 pompadour style. The face was coarse but not 
 homely and the blue eyes were honest and sincere. 
 The mouth and teeth were almost fine. The defect 
 lay in the nose that was rather short and twisted to 
 one side. It was altogether a kind face with honesty 
 of purpose written plainly upon it. It revealed the 
 character of a man who could never rise to great 
 heights but who could never fall to low depths, a 
 man who would always be able to help others by help- 
 ing himself. A self-reliant man who expected that 
 others would lean on him. He was prepared to al- 
 low Emily's whole family to lean on him. There 
 was no more comfortable woman in Richmond than 
 his mother. And so, Robert was a man, self-made, 
 but a man. 
 
 But Fielding saw none of this. He saw the butcher 
 boy who had developed into a brute with the power 
 to slay a virgin. To his excited gaze the face of the 
 man as he stared into it grew to enormous propor- 
 tions. Then the body grew until it vanished and be-
 
 158 THE DAUGHTER OP A REBEL 
 
 came a grotesque figure that threatened horror and 
 injustice to a conquered aristocracy a thing that 
 had made its way among them and to whom inch by 
 inch they were yielding; a thing that could supply 
 food and raiment and shelter to the down-trodden 
 and the overcome and in return become a devourer 
 and destroyer of what it had sheltered. 
 
 Finally Emily again mechanically seated herself at 
 the table. The man seated himself, too, while the col- 
 ored girl cleared away the dishes. 
 
 Fielding did not move. He stood like one petrified 
 and never shifted his gaze. 
 
 Suddenly all the agony that his brain had experi- 
 enced began to attack his body. Pains shot through 
 his head, his limbs ached and for an instant his sight 
 failed him so that he was seized with alarm lest he 
 could no longer see through the window. He tried 
 to clear his vision that he might behold Emily, as it 
 were, for the last time fix her forever in his brain. 
 He took in her smooth brown hair, recalling vividly 
 that once in a sharp wind when she was dashing 
 through the woods with him on horseback it had 
 tumbled down and enveloped her. He noted the clear 
 eyes that had laughed or swam in tears, the little nose 
 cut as no other nose ever was with its charming sensi- 
 tive nostrils; the deep cleft in the upper lip; the lips 
 themselves curved and inviting that over and over had 
 yielded to his; the voluptuous throat; the young over- 
 ripe bosom; the smooth body with skin of satin, the 
 whole tender virgin whom God had created for him 
 and who had been torn from him to be made a living 
 sacrifice of. His throat ached to bursting and sud- 
 denly he was carried away by rage. 
 
 To him that creature waiting to possess her, with
 
 DESPERATE CHIVALRY 159 
 
 his brute-like tendencies and lack of imagination, was 
 no more capable of love than the beast of the field. 
 The most that Emily could become to him, after the 
 first abandonment, was a habit a recreation, like 
 the habitual Sunday feast eaten by the dull glutton. 
 And this creature would daily be at her side! He 
 would hear her sighs, see her tears, their very breaths 
 would mingle and he himself would follow his mule 
 through the broiling sun and stand alone at night 
 contemplating all this, while the world slept beneath 
 distant stars. 
 
 He was so changed, as these thoughts chased 
 through his mind, that an acquaintance in passing 
 might not have recognized him. He put his face con- 
 vulsively in his hands as if to shut out the vision, 
 grown unbearable, but immediately withdrew them 
 and gazed again. 
 
 Meanwhile the night was growing intensely black. 
 Heavy clouds were hurrying together as with a dis- 
 tinct purpose, that of effacing the moon, and the lit- 
 tle tree that had fluttered so gayly became silent and 
 immovable as if awestruck. Momently it grew closer 
 as though rain would soon fall, and as Fielding drew 
 himself up in an effort to breathe more freely he 
 wished for a clap of thunder that would relieve the 
 intense pressure that he felt upon him and clear his 
 head. 
 
 It did not come and the oppression in the atmos- 
 phere increased. Once he feared that he was suffo- 
 cating and tugged at his collar. As this fear of death 
 took possession of him a new idea occurred to him. 
 He realized that if he died this moment in the throes 
 of a great anguish he would never have realized one 
 hour of unalloyed happiness in his entire life. He
 
 160 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 felt with poignant bitterness that he was one whom 
 God had ordained for a martyr. 
 
 Great tears gathered in his hot staring eyes and 
 streamed down his cheeks. He was like one stand- 
 ing in the center of a mystic dream, on all sides of 
 him scenes of horror and beyond the dream visions of 
 a lost heaven. 
 
 Then he saw Emily again, not as she was there be- 
 fore him defiantly protecting herself, but as she would 
 be when the time came for her to be overcome and to 
 yield herself patiently as to a religious rite. The pale 
 face, the divine form, the little passive hands, one with 
 its heavy circlet of gold, all rose before him. And 
 then he beheld the violent amorousness of the man. 
 He thought of the storms careering through the burly 
 body, the passionate trembling, the kisses pressed in 
 delirium upon her lips. 
 
 Suddenly in the midst of these turbulent thoughts 
 Emily, as though commanded, rose to her feet in an 
 absent minded way, and the man approached her and 
 laid his hands firmly on her shoulders. She no 
 longer resisted, her form relaxed, her head lowered. 
 She was listening. He spoke a long while and when 
 he was through he took his hands from her shoulders 
 and she turned from him and left the room walking 
 like a somnambulist. 
 
 Robert Hughes remained motionless, his eyes fas- 
 tened upon the door through which she had passed. 
 Presently he went hurriedly to the door but returned 
 to the spot he had left and remained still some mo- 
 ments. 
 
 Fielding thought he could hear the beating of his 
 heart. He strained forward as if to listen but the 
 man had changed his position and was looking at his
 
 DESPERATE CHIVALRY 161 
 
 watch. Then he sat down and Fielding experienced 
 an instant's relief. But almost immediately he rose 
 and went over to the mantel-piece and toyed with 
 some bric-a-brac. Then he looked at his watch again 
 and with a decisive turn of his sturdy body he went 
 over quickly to the rear windows, lowered them and 
 fastened the catches. 
 
 Fielding again put his hand over his heart that was 
 throbbing beneath the burning flesh. They were be- 
 ing shut in together with the doors and windows 
 locked! Again the blood rushed to his brain so that 
 he could not see. 
 
 When his sight returned the entire scene, except 
 the man a man now, not an idea had vanished. 
 He saw only him, a creature in a blinding light, bent 
 upon a crime as fierce in his eyes and as black as the 
 one for which they burned negroes at the stake. 
 
 In another instant with the quick, nervous move- 
 ments of a panther he had leaped through the open 
 parlor window and the next instant his left hand, with 
 its long sinewy fingers, was around his rival's throat. 
 In a flash with his right hand he grasped the glittering 
 new carving knife that lay on the table beside him and 
 raising it aloft, while his crazed eyes glared into the 
 bulging ones of his victim, he plunged it into his 
 heart ! 
 
 For moments they stood thus, then finally he re- 
 leased his hold and the monster of his dream, the 
 dream that had maddened him into a murderer, lay 
 at his feet. The fall was heavy a dull thud that 
 rattled the china and shook the small house.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE LIGHTNING STRIKES 
 
 WHILE this scene was being enacted, Page, her 
 mind filled with the events of the day, was seated be- 
 side the window of her little room looking out. See- 
 ing the terrified condition of Emily when they reached 
 Robert Hughes's house; watching the deathlike pal- 
 lor that spread over her features when they literally 
 tore her mother from her arms; feeling the clinging 
 of those suddenly fiercely strong arms about herself 
 as Emily had begged her not to leave, had all had a 
 most depressing effect upon her. She went to bed 
 early but these thoughts and a certain intense oppres- 
 sion in the atmosphere prevented her sleeping. 
 
 She seemed never to have seen such a night. The 
 sky, dark, turbulent, and threatening, was close to the 
 earth and the moon of a pale bluish color appeared 
 and disappeared through the ragged clouds, reminding 
 one of the startled face of a terrified fleeing woman. 
 Through the entire city, beneath this convulsed can- 
 opy, there was the quiet of the vanquished town and 
 the stagnation and ruin seemed to settle upon Page. 
 There was suffocation as if material things were 
 stifling and ready to burst forth into activity. 
 
 Her mental eye roamed over this inertness through 
 all the familiar streets. She saw the closed factories, 
 vacant stores, and vacant lots; she saw the broken 
 window T -panes of the vacant stores and the gray grimi- 
 ness of those that were occupied; she saw the dust 
 settling on the dull fading paint of the houses and 
 
 162
 
 THE LIGHTNING STRIKES 163 
 
 palings of the fences and the negroes, whose care and 
 pride these things had been, abandoned to idleness and 
 depravity. Even the River, not called upon to do 
 much in the way of transportation, rolled on tran- 
 quilly and aimlessly, red and sullen, an eternal re- 
 minder of all the blood that had flowed. 
 
 In this emptiness and inert repose Page heard no 
 voice of hope; it was as though death were stealing 
 silently about to finally overcome all things. 
 
 Suddenly a breath of wind brought to her nostrils 
 the passionate odor of magnolia blossoms and to her 
 ears faint strains of music, and of male voices sing- 
 ing. Somewhere, very near, some one was being sere- 
 naded. A slight feeling of relief came to Page and, 
 remaining perfectly still, she consciously breathed in 
 the odor of the majestic flower and listened eagerly 
 to the singing. How rich and melodious the quar- 
 tette of voices sounded pouring forth the melody of 
 an old song, and what a sweet custom this of lovers 
 awakening their sweethearts with beautiful love- 
 songs. Page knew she would never forget the sere- 
 nades that she had had and felt in her heart that, in 
 spite of Dave and all opposition, there was a possibil- 
 ity that she would some day be away from these gentle 
 serenades. She wished that they would come under 
 her window and serenade her. 
 
 The fact was that her heart was aching acutely for 
 both Fielding and Err.ily, and she longed for the mu- 
 sic that it might, in a way, rest her, even that it might 
 bring tears to her dry wide-open eyes. As though in 
 answer to her wish the quartette soon appeared in 
 sight and when they reached the house they stopped 
 under the old weeping willow, and, after a pause, sang 
 several sweet old songs.
 
 164 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 There was a certain etiquette observed in these 
 serenades that, after the third song had been sung, 
 required the one serenaded to throw something, usu- 
 ally a glove, from the window. Page had but one 
 pair of white gloves. They had done service at a 
 good many entertainments and were booked to do 
 service at many more, but, resolving to pretend at the 
 next party that she had lost one she rummaged among 
 the few possessions in her top drawer and finding the 
 pair threw one out. 
 
 It caught, as she could see, in the sudden flaring 
 out of the moon through the still agitated clouds, in 
 a lower limb of the old willow and they all sprang for 
 it. But the possessor of it remained a mystery. 
 
 When the last echoes of the final song had died 
 away, the singers left quietly and Page remained 
 looking out and thinking. 
 
 In spite of herself she continued to feel oppressed. 
 The night had grown a little cooler, but there were 
 momentary periods of intense heat between the timid 
 gusts of breeze. The sweetness of other flowers than 
 the magnolia reached her and it seemed to her that 
 their effort to be in full bloom by the morrow was 
 a deliciously appealing struggle. What a relief it 
 would be when the night was over and the sun would 
 rise in splendor over all! 
 
 After a time the sound of wheels arrested her at- 
 tention. A vehicle was coming down the street. 
 This was a rare occurrence in this quiet side street 
 and Page looked out. As it gradually approached 
 she saw an open hack in which a man was seated. 
 To her astonishment the carriage was driven up to 
 her own door and stopped. 
 
 The man looked up and, in the uncertain gloom,
 
 THE LIGHTNING STRIKES 165 
 
 she instantly recognized Dave. Her heart leaped into 
 her throat and without waiting to consider, she threw 
 on a wrapper and flew down the steps and flung open 
 the front door. 
 
 Dave was standing on the porch and the sight of 
 his face made her quail. 
 
 " Dave," she exclaimed breathlessly, " in God's 
 name what is it what has happened ? " 
 
 " Page," he answered in a husky voice, " go up- 
 stairs and dress as quickly as you can; you must go 
 to Emily!" 
 
 "Emily?" 
 
 " Yes ! " 
 
 "Dave! You look so strange what is it? 
 What has happened? " 
 
 He took her by the arm to steady her. " Prepare 
 yourself for an awful shock : Fielding has murdered 
 Robert Hughes ! " 
 
 "Fielding! Robert Hughes! Oh! My God!" 
 She fell back but Dave caught her. "When? 
 Where ? " she gasped. 
 
 " There, at the home ! Emily does not want her 
 parents told until to-morrow! She wants you. Col- 
 lect yourself you must go to her! " 
 
 Without a word, stunned as by a blow, Page turned 
 from him, and entering the house staggering, pulled 
 herself up the steps holding on to the banisters. 
 
 She dressed herself with nervous, trembling hands, 
 and had difficulty finding things. Then she descended 
 and they entered the hack and were driven rapidly 
 away, the wheels of the old vehicle making a loud 
 noise that resounded curiously on the stillness of the 
 night. 
 
 They found Emily upstairs seated on the floor, her
 
 1 66 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 head buried in the lap of the mulatto girl. She sprang 
 to her feet and faced them. 
 
 "Page!" she cried, "he did it! Fielding is a 
 murderer ! " Then she screamed and Page went for- 
 ward and folded her in a fierce embrace. 
 
 " Stop, Emily ! Stop ! My darling Emily, don't 
 scream like that again. I am here Page is with 
 you!" 
 
 And holding to the girl she too burst into sobs.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 BEYOND HIS TENSION 
 
 Two hours later Page, in appearance as much of a 
 ghost as Emily herself, descended the stairs softly 
 and confronted Dave, seated upright in one of Robert 
 Hughes's new chairs, staring straight before him. 
 
 Coroners, policemen, doctors had all vanished. 
 Every trace of the tragedy had disappeared and all 
 that remained was the little new home that Robert 
 Hughes had prepared for his bride. 
 
 " Well ? " Dave asked, rising quickly as though an- 
 other tragedy might be at hand. 
 
 " She is asleep I gave her the limit of the pre- 
 scription: I had to make her sleep. For the time, 
 thank God, she is dead to it all. She seemed con- 
 scious of but one thing. Over and over she repeated 
 those words, ' Fielding is a murderer ! ' It is as 
 though she had forgotten everything else father, 
 mother, Robert Hughes, the wedding, everything 
 only those words, ' Fielding is a murderer! ' I think 
 she repeated them a hundred times ! " 
 
 Turning quickly from her, Dave entered the ad- 
 joining room, poured out a glass of sherry and re- 
 turning handed it to her. " Here," he said, " drink 
 this all the strength has gone out of you ! " 
 
 She drank the wine eagerly, returned him the glass, 
 and soon a little color crept into her cheeks. 
 
 " You are right, the strength has gone out of me 
 the strength to stand any more ! This decides me 
 
 167
 
 i68 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 I'm going away ! I can't stand it ! I can't, I can't ! " 
 He started to speak but she raised her hands and 
 stopped him. " I can't, I tell you," she repeated. 
 "Every hour it's something! Think of Sam the 
 other day ! Suppose you had not been there ! Think 
 of that pistol leveled at you and think," her eyes trav- 
 eled about in horror, "of this! 'Fielding is a mur- 
 derer ! ' I will hear those words as long as I live ! " 
 She took an excited step forward. " Do you know 
 what I said to Emily? I denied it! Fielding isn't 
 a murderer, I told her, but an avenger! He has 
 w r ashed his hands in blood, but in doing so he has 
 been an instrument chosen by God to prevent the mur- 
 der of your purity and innocence, to save Robert 
 Hughes from worse than murder ! " 
 
 As she ceased to speak, ceased flinging out the im- 
 passioned words, the very room seemed to vibrate 
 with her voice, and Dave's heart sank into his breast. 
 He knew Page, her impressionability, and what this 
 occurrence meant to her. Oppressed as he was him- 
 self, horror-struck by the tragedy, broken-hearted at 
 the fate of his dearest friend, the friend dearer to 
 him he felt than his very self, it seemed to him that 
 effort, opposition, were useless; that in spite of him 
 the tide of events would sweep Page along into other 
 channels and that he would sit still and, as he had 
 done the two past hours, be a passive onlooker. A 
 great sense of weariness overcame him. Perhaps 
 Page was right. For a moment he stood before her 
 fixed to the spot, dumb, mute, like a being tied hand 
 and foot, who has given up and ceased to struggle. 
 And all the while the innate sadness of his counte- 
 nance, the sadness that the faces of his people bore, 
 the universal sadness of his time, was deepening from
 
 BEYOND HIS TENSION 169 
 
 shadow to cloud. Page saw this, this look of pas- 
 sionate hopelessness, and while it stung and rebuked 
 her she quickly fortified herself against it. 
 
 " I am going away ! " she flung out desperately. 
 
 ;< Yes," Dave answered absently and speaking as 
 one aroused from deep sleep, " I know." He looked 
 into her face with the expression of one beyond con- 
 tention. In his voice, when he spoke again, there 
 was even a trace of sympathy, tenderness, as though 
 he had been won over and was taking her part. " I 
 understand this tragedy has been too much for 
 you; I understand." 
 
 He went over to the chair he had vacated when she 
 came in and taking his seat in it buried his face in 
 his hands. 
 
 The silence became sepulchral, oppressive. The 
 moon, escaped again from the battle with clouds, was 
 pouring in through one window, the window through 
 which Fielding had leaped to his doom, and was ly- 
 ing in a patch on the floor. Page stared at this patch 
 of pale light. Then she heard a sound upstairs, 
 started slightly and listened. It was the faithful 
 mulatto girl she had left by Emily's bedside, moving 
 softly about the room. In a moment all was quiet 
 again. 
 
 She stood still, staring before her at nothing, her 
 wide-open eyes looking into vacancy, her mind strug- 
 gling to get possession of all the sorrow and misery 
 that she was using to fortify herself in her final de- 
 termination. 
 
 Then Dave looked up and their eyes met. Page 
 felt herself start again and attempted to control a 
 nervousness that responded to every sound and 
 glance. She tried shifting her gaze from Dave's,
 
 1 70 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 but a strange gleam was in his eyes, that held it. 
 
 He rose to his feet and it seemed to Page she had 
 never seen him tall like this, never realized his height. 
 He towered above her breast, shoulders and head. 
 He was dark with a velvety midnight darkness that 
 suggested that the bursting of a human thunderstorm 
 was imminent. 
 
 " Page," he exclaimed, the scorn in his voice cut- 
 ting the silence like the cut of a sharp knife, " you 
 are not the first traitor ! " 
 
 "Traitor!" 
 
 " Yes," he approached a step, " traitor, coward, de- 
 serter I call you what you are ! " 
 
 " Dave ! How do you dare apply such words 
 to me?" 
 
 " Because they fit you ! " 
 
 The gleam in his eyes changed to fire; it was the 
 first stroke of lightning. It struck and scorched her 
 and she quailed under it. 
 
 "Am I not right?" he asked. "Is not what I 
 say true? You want to go away! Why? Because 
 you want to escape the misery, the despair, the pov- 
 erty, the danger if you will, that you stand in the 
 midst of! Such beings we call traitors! In our war, 
 when a youth, whose temperament possibly corre- 
 sponding to yours was overcome by, God knows what, 
 for man can never realize true battle, with its death 
 cries, its awful din, its flashing of bayonets, its dis- 
 tant roar of cannon, its deafening exploding of shell, 
 its sharp repeated rifle shots, its threats, yells, smoth- 
 ered and uttered oaths, its mad orders, blowing of 
 horns, a hundred murders in one moment, blood flow- 
 ing, horrible wound gapings, dying shrieks when 
 such a youth, sensitive, terrified, overcome beyond
 
 BEYOND HIS TENSION 171 
 
 endurance, fled, no excuse was made for him he 
 was called a coward, a deserter, a traitor caught, 
 humiliated, reviled before his comrades, made an ex- 
 ample of and shot! What are you fleeing from? 
 Your army in distress your stricken army in whose 
 hearts and souls rebellion is raging and who at times 
 commit desperate deeds such as Fielding has com- 
 mitted ! I repeat I call you what you are, a 
 traitor ! " 
 
 " Dave ! " She staggered up and caught him by 
 the arm. 
 
 He freed himself. " No, let me speak ! Do you 
 know what I found out just now when you entered 
 this room? I found out that you did not love me, 
 never had loved me, perhaps never could love me or 
 any one! What does a woman do, in a crisis like 
 this, who loves a man? What, in spite of everything, 
 does she do? She flies into his arms! What did 
 you do! Declared your intention to run away! The 
 love that you confessed on that old porch at Field- 
 ing's that night was a passing emotion wrung out of 
 your jealousy! It no doubt gave you pleasure. All 
 you want is emotion new emotions! That's what 
 you are stretching out to! New schemes that they 
 may furnish you with new emotions! But love! 
 You do not know the meaning of the word! I see 
 it all as clear as day now, for I repeat, if you had 
 loved me when you entered that door you would have 
 rushed into my arms, that instinctively moved to open 
 to you, when I heard your step ! Instead I am greeted 
 with the old cry that once too often has sickened my 
 hearing you are going away ! Ah ! It still sick- 
 ens me! Why did you lay your hand on that sacred 
 Bible the other day? The action was a lie!"
 
 172 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 "Dave!" 
 
 He threw her from him and again his scorn cut 
 the air. " It probably furnished you with an emo- 
 tion!" 
 
 She caught his arm again. " Dave ! Listen to me 
 
 you must ! " 
 
 "No, I won't listen to you!" He wrenched his 
 arm free. " You will listen to me! From this mo- 
 ment I will never again plead my own cause, either 
 in your or my own behalf. If you want to go away 
 
 go! If you can't stand conditions here, leave 
 them ! A while ago I was afraid of you I almost 
 joined hands with you but in one instant that weak- 
 ness passed, and I tell you now if you want to go 
 
 go!" 
 
 He paused, expecting her to speak, but silenced to 
 muteness she merely remained gazing at him out of 
 horror-struck eyes, and he went on : " As for me I 
 will remain here, true to my birthright; clinging to 
 my sentiments and ideals, though murder be ram- 
 pant!" 
 
 She flung up her head and her voice rang out in 
 triumph. " And it's just such sentiments as these 
 that cause the tragedies that are driving me away 
 just such madness!" 
 
 He leaned over and peered into her eyes. " And 
 as surely as you live these sentiments this madness 
 will call you back ! Go to New York, plunge into all 
 the gayety there, and with the lights of the city blind- 
 ing you, its roar deafening you, they will call you 
 back! In the dark hours of the night they will call 
 you back; from your seat in the theater they will call 
 you back; from the wealth squandered before your 
 eyes they will call you back! And more! My love
 
 BEYOND HIS TENSION 173 
 
 will call you back! Though all the princes and 
 potentates of the world bow before you, laying their 
 hearts at your feet, the love of my heart will oust 
 them all and call you back! Pray God, Page, it may 
 not be too late! Go! " he pointed upwards, " to that 
 stricken child ! " 
 
 Her form shrunk and without a word she turned 
 and obeyed him.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 VISIONS OF THE OLD AND NEW 
 
 THE following morning Emily's father and mother 
 arrived in Martin's old hack, and took Emily home. 
 Page accompanied them, seated on the front seat be- 
 side Emily, holding one of her hands. 
 
 Emily was surprisingly quiet, but already her youth 
 and bloom seemed to have vanished. The little form 
 was a rack that her clothes drooped on; the colorless 
 lips had lost their beauty lines and drooped like her 
 clothing; her eyes were those of a starved animal. 
 A long crepe veil that had belonged to Emily's grand- 
 mother had been brought by her mother and Emily 
 was entirely hidden beneath it. The smell of this old 
 veil, that had been packed in camphor, sickened Page 
 and as the carriage moved slowly along, visions of 
 Emily's future rose before her. Sunday after Sun^ 
 day Emily would wear this historic veil, saturated 
 with the tragedies of broken hearts, to church and 
 sit with folded hands beneath it. And she would 
 take up her daily life in the household to grow into 
 such an old maid as Page was only too familiar with, 
 the kind that used to frighten her when she was a 
 child. Her awful message to Fielding, that his atone- 
 ment to God would be never to look upon her face 
 again, had declared her future. 
 
 Later in the day Page left her to go to Aunt Con- 
 stance whom she feared the tragedy had prostrated. 
 On her way, she walked, apparently without any in-
 
 VISIONS OF THE OLD AND NEW 175 
 
 tention on her part, to the real estate office and com- 
 pleted the formalities for the sale of her house. 
 
 To Page's relief, Mrs. Bartlett, whom she also 
 stopped by to see, accepted the news as a relief and 
 confessed to Page that for some time she had been 
 partially packed, ready to move. She declared that 
 since the death of Sadie May she had found the place 
 unendurable on account of reminders of her at every 
 turn. 
 
 She parted from Page with a burst of feeling to 
 which Page, in spite of her benumbed feeling, partly 
 responded. 
 
 " Mrs. Bartlett," she cried, " as long as I live I 
 will never forget how kind you have been to me ever 
 since we have lived under this little roof together ! " 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett's shining eyes overflowed with tears. 
 
 " Thank you, Miss Page," she said, " and if you 
 do go away, if you feel you've got to go, will you 
 sometimes think of Sadie May? " The pressure tight- 
 ened on Page's hands. " You won't forget her, will 
 you? I want everybody that lived in this house," the 
 tears were streaming now, " to remember her." 
 
 " Never, Mrs. Bartlett," Page cried. " I promise 
 you never to forget Sadie May!" 
 
 As she passed out of the house her mind reverted 
 to Dave and their last talk on the little hard sofa. 
 How many things had happened since that night. It 
 might be a hundred years ago! 
 
 While Page was pondering upon these things, Dave, 
 having parted from his lifelong friend in his prison 
 cell, was walking thoughtfully towards his home. 
 
 For the first time in his life he felt he had been 
 called upon by the Stage Director of the world to 
 play a part. He had accepted the offer from Mr.
 
 176 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 Meredith to enter into partnership with him, and on 
 the strength of it had told Fielding he would take his 
 case. 
 
 There was a slight flush on his pale face as he 
 strode eagerly through the streets that the cloudless 
 sun, in a pale blue sky, was lighting up with an al- 
 most golden light. He was so excited that the world 
 about him, the bright yellow glow, the delicately 
 green trees, and the old faded homes seemed to him 
 a fantastical display in which he had suddenly found 
 himself. He was still alive with the interview that in 
 its tragic intensity had gripped hard at his brain and 
 heart. The narrow walls of the cell still crushed him, 
 the yellow patch of sunlight that came across Field- 
 ing's head like a blazing sword and then shone like 
 a false jewel in a rough setting on the whitewashed 
 wall, still blinded him. 
 
 Fielding's appearance, that had at first shocked him 
 almost to speechlessness, remained with him. He was 
 like a startling apparition. Not twenty-four hours 
 had passed since he had unconsciously committed an 
 awful crime, yet he was but a mocking echo of him- 
 self. His hair, the day before black as a raven's 
 wing, was sprinkled with gray; his dark eyes burned 
 in their sockets, a dull red, and his tall angular frame, 
 thin always, was barely more than a skeleton. The 
 hands that reached out from this weird wreck and 
 clutched convulsively at him, were like two burning 
 hooks. What was left of him was the old languid 
 grace that betrayed itself in every movement. 
 
 A murderer who moved like a god was a pathetic 
 spectacle. All this confronted Dave, wrenched his 
 body and quickened his heart beats. But so strange 
 is the working of the human brain in moments of
 
 VISIONS OF THE OLD AND NEW 177 
 
 great stress, always straying from the immediate ob- 
 jects that affect it to more distant ones, that it was 
 of himself he was thinking and how a man is led un- 
 consciously, even against his own will, to assume his 
 part in the world. He tried to arouse himself; to 
 make familiar objects have familiar aspects, but to 
 no purpose. 
 
 A new world had opened to him, a world that was 
 calling on him to perform a part, a serious part, and 
 one that required any man's best efforts. He was to 
 save a friend from death and he had no misgivings 
 about undertaking the duty. Temporary insanity 
 was to be his plea, and so powerful did it seem that 
 his line of defense was but a tangled net that re- 
 quired skillful handling. Mentally already he had 
 handled it and felt no doubt about the issue. He was 
 so sure, in fact, that it produced little excitement in 
 him. What stirred him was that his time for action 
 had come. He tried to throw the thought from him 
 but for the moment it dominated him and all he was 
 concerned about or connected with. 
 
 But as the disturbed needle returns to the pole, his 
 mind reverted to Page. What effect would his tak- 
 ing part in the world of affairs, becoming a worker 
 among his fellow-men, have on her? A new excite- 
 ment burned in him at this thought : a feeling of rest- 
 lessness. How harsh he had been the night before, 
 when she herself, in a highly wrought nervous condi- 
 tion at being unexpectedly called upon to figure in a 
 terrible tragedy, needed his tenderness needed to 
 be soothed! And days must elapse before he could 
 see her, as he had given his word to Fielding to go at 
 once to the family to offer them what help and com- 
 fort he could.
 
 
 
 178 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 As he opened his front door, Page was softly turn- 
 ing the knob of the one that led to her Aunt Con- 
 stance's room. 
 
 She found her lying on the outside of the bed, pale, 
 and as she had feared, rather prostrated. Page, with 
 her thoughts and intentions uppermost, regarded her 
 as a silent rebuke. 
 
 She walked, deciding with a sudden contracting of 
 her jaws to have it over, straight up to the side of 
 the bed. 
 
 " Aunt Constance," she said, " I have sold my 
 house." 
 
 There was no reply, but two feeble hands went out. 
 Page did not take them and for a full moment they 
 gazed into each other's eyes. When she turned away 
 she knew that Aunt Constance knew. Page had 
 never experienced a moment quite like this. She was 
 glad it was over. 
 
 She spent the day in dutiful, devoted attentions. 
 For the most part there was silence, a few words 
 about the tragedy about Emily, and that was all. 
 
 Two days were passed like this, during every hour 
 of which Page was never once able to rid herself of 
 the feeling that in forsaking Aunt Constance she was 
 acting an almost criminal part. This was acute an- 
 guish to her, and once, in a moment of partial mad- 
 ness under the strain, she felt rise up in her like a 
 viper, anger at the sweet, frail creature whose ail- 
 ments, even whose existence, stood in her way. This 
 feeling alarmed Page and for a moment she feared 
 she might be developing into a monster or a maniac. 
 That night when she was bathing Aunt Constance's 
 feet some scalding tears, that her aunt did not know 
 of, dropped upon them.
 
 VISIONS OF THE OLD AND NEW 179 
 
 If only, she thought, Aunt Constance would burst 
 out upon her as Dave had done and call her a traitor. 
 If only she would demur or become peevish or exact- 
 ing like so many old sick people but she didn't: 
 she only clung to her with a passionate tenderness 
 that was like a whip-lash upon her, and followed her 
 every movement with famished, tragic eyes. Page 
 tried to escape these passionate imploring eyes or she 
 would rub her hands to be freed of the loving fever- 
 ish touch that burnt them. 
 
 On the afternoon of the third day she went to see 
 Emily and before she left she arranged with her 
 Cousin Mary to board Aunt Constance during her ab- 
 sence and begged of Emily to try to take her place. 
 Emily promised, her face lighting up for a moment, 
 as in the sacred task there might be salvation for her. 
 All was settled now. 
 
 On her way home she was drawn to her old 
 house. Mrs. Bartlett had sent around her things, so 
 she supposed she too had left. She felt the desire 
 to see just how things were and quickened her steps. 
 She reached the spot and found to her amazement 
 that the house was already being pulled down. 
 
 The hour was sundown and the workmen had 
 abandoned labor for the day. Never had she seen a 
 house demolished as this one had been. They had 
 torn off all the front and left the interior standing 
 cruelly exposed. And they had also cut down the 
 tree, the beautiful old weeping willow. It lay pros- 
 trate in the debris. Some children were riding on 
 the limbs and cracked branches. It sent shudders 
 through her and she picked up a few leaves to keep 
 she would never look upon them except through a 
 flood of memories. There was a look of despair in
 
 180 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 her eyes as she looked away from it to the frontless 
 house before her that her act had made grotesque and 
 ridiculous. Somehow the little parlor mantel-piece 
 standing there bare and exposed looked pitiful, the 
 narrow steps holding fast to the wall seemed terri- 
 fied, and the gay but faded wall papering, a white 
 ground covered with a profusion of pink buds, seemed 
 bashful and ashamed at being thus exposed to the 
 public gaze. 
 
 There was no excuse in her mind for this reckless 
 destruction. She realized that she did not want the 
 money, as all her life before she had wanted money, 
 to do good with, to help those in need and bring joy 
 and smiles to the stricken, but to forsake all these and 
 go away for the sake of herself an act that would 
 cause shame and pain to many. But she knew these 
 thoughts would not deter her. She was going go- 
 ing to hide away and bid herself shine that she might 
 see what she was as a detached being and what she 
 might do in a new and larger world. In that world 
 she would be free and independent. She would prob- 
 ably hold nothing sacred and nothing would hold her 
 sacred. The worst as well as the best could leap to 
 the front and howl aloud if it would. She was a 
 moth longing for light, dying for pain-singed wings. 
 She had no doubt that she would get them but the 
 thought of pain for her own sake made her all the 
 more eager. She stood in front of her demolished 
 house and by the side of her fallen tree, her feet 
 among the bricks and in the dying leaves feeling cruel 
 and selfish but grim in her determination. 
 
 Many pictures besides the demolished house and the 
 fallen tree rose up. The whole city, all the streets, 
 and houses and stores stood up erect and full of ques-
 
 VISIONS OF THE OLD AND NEW 181 
 
 tioning before her half -frightened eyes asking her 
 why she was becoming a deserter. And in every 
 door and out of every window a stern or sweet face 
 full of love and solicitude peered out asking her why. 
 To all this, and to all the people, she answered irrele- 
 vantly and not fully understanding, that she herself 
 was the why. 
 
 But love for all that she was leaving gushed from 
 her. And her eyes tried to roam farther than she 
 could see. The children who had been playing upon 
 the branches of the fallen tree had vanished and no 
 one was in view except a little boy whom she knew 
 by sight who lived at the corner. He was carrying 
 home some groceries in little packages in his arms. 
 How well she knew the little form! Maybe she 
 would never see him again. She watched the child 
 until he had entered the house and closed the door. 
 Then her eyes rested upon the heavens where the sun 
 was setting tranquilly in some burnished clouds. 
 
 She looked until all the color had left the sky and 
 a gray quietude had sprung up about her. Glancing 
 once more at the crippled, helpless, and reproachful 
 house, she turned and walked rapidly up the street. 
 
 Before reaching home Page had performed another 
 duty. She went by to see her Cousin Betty. That 
 interview, that she dared not escape, had tried her 
 sorely, but it was also now of the past. 
 
 She quietly entered the room and found her Aunt 
 Constance peacefully sleeping. This was a great re- 
 lief to her. Ever since her positive decision to leave 
 she had wanted to be alone, to realize it all and ana- 
 lyze her feelings. And now she was like the drunk- 
 ard, about to take his drink in secret the drink that 
 had been withheld from him.
 
 182 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 The evening had turned cool and as there was a 
 little chill on the great quiet solemn room, she made 
 a wood-fire that soon sparkled and blazed, lighting it 
 with dancing patches of light and shadow. 
 
 The days and nights had been exhausting and in 
 the warmth and with her head back on the old velvet 
 chair, she began to feel sleepy. She stretched, 
 aroused herself, and sprang to her feet. Catching 
 sight of her face in the mirror, she started. A change 
 seemed to have come over her features that, while it 
 alarmed, fascinated her. She had always loved 
 studying her own face and went over and looked at 
 herself for quite a while just as she had looked at 
 the beautiful sunset. That particular sunset and her- 
 self to-night she would never forget. 
 
 She began all of a sudden and to her great surprise 
 to feel elated, a wild flighty feeling that made her 
 dance a little, but very lightly so as not to awaken her 
 aunt. Then, as though controlled by a strange will, 
 she sang under her breath so as scarcely to be heard 
 at all. Then she fancied she saw Dave's face peer- 
 ing at her through the window. She shrank back, a 
 kind of pain stifled her joy and she buried her face 
 in her arms and cried. Finally she was again seated 
 in the old chair, thinking of one afternoon quite a 
 number of years ago now, when she was barely es- 
 caping her childhood, and a rough boy, with whom 
 she had been playing, caught her, and before she could 
 escape, had her in his arms imprinting a long passion- 
 ate kiss on her mouth. There had been rapture in 
 her anger and a combination of emotions that she had 
 never been rid of and that she seemed to be experi- 
 encing now. She was sorry and glad, happy and 
 wretched, all at once, and angry with herself, as she
 
 VISIONS OF THE OLD AND NEW 183 
 
 had been with the boy, and yet half in love with her- 
 self, as she had also been, for the moment with the 
 boy. She was under the control of similar emotions. 
 But suddenly there was a clutching at her heart, a 
 kind of spasm. 
 
 How still Aunt Constance was! She was lying as 
 motionless as one dead. Suppose she had died sup- 
 pose her gentle spirit had slipped away. 
 
 Her heart leaped at the thought that catastrophe 
 would prevent her departure! 
 
 She stole over and looked at her, assuring herself 
 of the feeble but regular breathing. But an awful 
 agony gripped her. To-morrow night Aunt Con- 
 stance would be alone! She sprang lightly to the 
 center of the room and mentally faced herself. 
 
 What was this call of self that was stronger than 
 love stronger than duty - stronger than all she 
 held sacred and in respect stronger than Dave? 
 
 Her mind suddenly refused to act and she could 
 find no answer. 
 
 Suddenly it seemed to her that Dave appeared with 
 his arms frantically outstretched, and this caused her 
 to break into low suppressed sobs. 
 
 She was like one fallen overboard into a placid 
 sea, being pulled against his will away from the na- 
 tive shore.
 
 BOOK II
 
 BOOK II 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A NIGHT ON WHEELS 
 
 PAGE was sitting in a Pullman car for the first 
 time and, in spite of many harrowing experiences, 
 was, for the moment, experiencing no regrets. 
 
 She was feeling the softness of the seat she occu- 
 pied and reveling in the splendor of the coach. The 
 beautiful blue velvet that ornamented it, the shining 
 mirrors and graceful draperies, enchanted her, and 
 she was quickly intoxicated by the first luxury she 
 had ever known. 
 
 She did not know they fitted the cars up like this 
 and in the velvety atmosphere that seemed to touch 
 her, she felt all her sorrows slip away. 
 
 The colored porter, who passed through, seemed to 
 her a being possessed of superior knowledge and, un- 
 like her, he was perfectly at home in this moving pal- 
 ace. He was beginning to make up the beds and Page 
 watched him with keen interest. She had never seen 
 a man make a bed before and it astonished her that 
 he could do it so well. She hoped hers would be 
 the last bed he would make; she would like to sit up 
 all night. 
 
 Two men behind her were talking. Their voices 
 seemed to reach her through great space and she be- 
 gan to feel as one in a dream. She turned and looked 
 at them, experiencing astonishment. They were 
 
 187
 
 i88 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 dressed as fastidiously as women and were literally 
 surrounded by their possessions valises, canes, um- 
 brellas, books, magazines, etc. 
 
 Immediately they vaguely represented the wealth 
 she had been longing to see. It was all very strange 
 to find herself moving along, as it were, side by side 
 with strangers. She had never been in the presence 
 before of people not, in every way, familiar to her. 
 A big world opened up that almost alarmed her. 
 
 She turned her gaze from it all and looked a while 
 out of the windows at the fields and the starlit sky 
 above them, trying to discover the different kinds of 
 fields, whether corn, or wheat, or clover, but there 
 was no moon and it was difficult. When she looked 
 into the coach again the splendor greeted her with 
 redoubled force; the blue velvet that covered every- 
 thing was seductively beautiful and felt more than 
 ever delicious to her fingers. Oh, that she could go 
 on this way, a part of all this splendor, for weeks 
 and weeks! 
 
 A woman superbly gowned in a light silk and 
 smelling of the most intoxicating extracts had just 
 passed her. She rattled like the leaves on a tree and 
 walked with a free, bold, self-confident air. Who 
 was she? Where did she come from? She was like 
 an unknown plant springing into existence before her 
 eyes. These strange people starting up as from an- 
 other world, and the splendor of their appearance, 
 overpowered her. This woman traveling in a light 
 colored silk and smelling like a whole rose garden had 
 made a powerful impression upon her. She sud- 
 denly felt small and insignificant and sank back in 
 her corner. Her mind in a kind of terror flew to 
 Dave. He did not, she felt sure, dream that there
 
 A NIGHT ON WHEELS 189 
 
 were such large, magnificent, beautifully dressed, per- 
 fumed women, otherwise he could never have placed 
 her upon such a pedestal. And men like these two 
 behind her, with their composure and rare quality of 
 speech and voice, they would surely intimidate Dave. 
 
 A picture loomed up before her eyes of a forest 
 where birds with broken wings lay prone upon the 
 earth. That seemed to her the home she was turn- 
 ing her back upon. The sight of these three people, 
 these two men with almost painfully well fitting 
 clothes, and one woman in a light silk, provoked it. 
 In the three she had witnessed more self-confidence 
 and self-assertion than in all the people she had ever 
 seen before. 
 
 She felt ashamed, for the first time, of her dress, 
 and doubly ashamed of all the worn, ill-fitting clothes 
 of the men she knew. Her heart fluttered and she 
 wanted to cry over everything every rag, every 
 threadbare coat, every worn shoe. She would have 
 liked to raise all the old, torn, and tattered flags to 
 hide her people from the like of these. 
 
 She was aroused by the porter coming to make her 
 bed. When she asked him the time, he said it was 
 after eleven o'clock and Page was astonished. It had 
 not seemed ten minutes to her. As all the other peo- 
 ple in the coach had gone to bed, she supposed she 
 would have to, and after a few minutes she was be- 
 hind a curtain, stretched out on her back, with wide- 
 open eyes and beating heart. 
 
 The train went tearing through the night. One of 
 these two finely dressed men was snoring. For the 
 rest all was quietude, except for the turning of the 
 wheels, and the occasional blowing of the whistle 
 a low mournful tone it had that she knew she would
 
 190 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 never forget and the sudden flash of sound, as it 
 were, when a fence or car on another track was 
 passed. 
 
 She slept fitfully, sometimes for an hour or more, 
 sometimes for but a few minutes. Each time that 
 she awoke she raised her curtain and looked out at 
 the sky, and on the vanishing scene. Once or twice 
 the stopping of the car awoke her and she saw the 
 depots of towns and cities. Strange voices greeted 
 her and the trucks piled up with trunks reminded her 
 anew of a world of people before unconceived by her. 
 
 When she was dressed in the morning, she seemed 
 not only to be among strangers but was herself also 
 a stranger. No one was talking ; not even when there 
 were several in a party. There were some children 
 and they sat up prim and demure like the grown peo- 
 ple. Everything and everybody was orderly. There 
 were many more people on the train than when it 
 left Richmond. The women were all well dressed 
 and looked self-satisfied but bored. The men were 
 reading newspapers. It was the women who en- 
 gaged her attention. She could make out nothing 
 about them. Had they been encased in armor their 
 personality could not be more concealed. Who were 
 these women, she pondered? What did they exist 
 for? Were they wives, mothers, or old maids? 
 They might be anything. One woman who wore a 
 scarlet hat and had black eyes and a thin sharp nose 
 seemed to Page, she could not define why, to have a 
 wicked face. Her countenance was like a mask. 
 She turned from her with a shudder, but after a while 
 looked at her again for a long while. The woman 
 had not changed her position and Page marveled that 
 people could remain erect and motionless so long. It
 
 A NIGHT ON WHEELS 191 
 
 puzzled her to know why all were so orderly, sitting 
 like people in church instead of trying to be sociable 
 among themselves as she had always seen women try- 
 ing to be. The contrast between these women and 
 those she had left was so sharp that it struck her in 
 the eyes like a blow. 
 
 Finally the train rolled into Jersey City station and 
 as all the people got up and filed out she took up her 
 little old-fashioned bag, that Aunt Constance had lent 
 her, and filed out too. She became suddenly so ex- 
 cited that for a moment her brain refused to act. 
 She followed the crowd dazed and crossed the ferry 
 like one in a trance. 
 
 She did not know what she had expected to behold 
 on arriving in New York, but her visions, over and 
 over indulged in, had been of splendor. What 
 greeted her was hideousness, a kind of hideousness 
 that she never had seen. The very blackness of the 
 streets, as she left the ferry, shocked her. Like a 
 flash, as she stepped carefully over this black earth, 
 came visions of white cobble stones, or of silver or 
 pine tag covered roads extending through pine for- 
 ests with the rich brown or red soils of the fields be- 
 yond. She saw these roads turning to more delicate 
 shades in the golden light or split asunder by crystals 
 of ice that shone in the dazzling sun. 
 
 Her thoughts were interrupted by an awful roar 
 that reached her ears, the roar it seemed to her of 
 ten thousand lions in the agony of strife! Looking 
 ahead of her, she saw the black iron structures over 
 the streets with the trains tearing like mad over peo- 
 ple's heads. Tall massive buildings, stone, iron and 
 brick, all seemed about to fall and crush her. On the 
 sidewalk, rushed this way and that, a ceaseless army
 
 192 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 of men and women. As she stood jostled and pushed 
 about, with the cry of newsboys like the piercing 
 screeches of mad birds penetrating her ears; with the 
 dull day about her; with the smoke rising and de- 
 scending from a thousand tall chimneys, a terrible 
 impression of brute strength and awful heartlessness 
 came over her. Her soul cried out as she realized 
 that it was this supreme expression of sordid might 
 and brute strength that had swept down on their 
 dream life 'On a land of placidity and picturesque 
 delight,, where motion was represented by the old 
 packet-boat, drawn by a mule, that trailed its slow 
 length through placid waters, and where the captain 
 might wait for a fair woman to alight and gather a 
 handful of wild flowers. To be invaded by this! 
 As she got into a carriage her foot slipped and her 
 eyes were overflowing, but through her tears she 
 looked out fascinated by the very horrors that had 
 appalled her.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE LOST SHEEP 
 
 FOR the first time in her life, after a confused 
 drive, Page set foot in a hotel and for the first time 
 rode in an elevator. The sensations she experienced 
 and the rapidity with which her brain received im- 
 pressions left nothing clear. She saw before her a 
 confusion of mirrors, carpets, draperies, pictures, and, 
 always, movement. In her dazed condition she saw 
 no life in the movement. People seemed unmindful 
 of purpose, simply changing from place to place. It 
 was like the figures they danced at the country parties 
 in Virginia. She wondered that there was not some- 
 one at every corner and on every floor of the hotel 
 calling figures. She had a feeling such as she once 
 had when, with a party of girls, she drank, for the 
 fun of it, too much home-made blackberry bounce. 
 There was an excitement in the very atmosphere that 
 caused her to feel she could leap into the air. 
 
 Having been assigned a room, she took her seat and 
 looked about her, but almost immediately got up 
 and went over to the window. The cars and vehicles 
 tearing up and down and the crowd of people made 
 her fear that she might go mad in such a place. 
 
 She never dreamed or conceived of so many peo- 
 ple; neither the hosts of heaven nor all the armies of 
 hell she fancied could muster so many. 
 
 She stood two hours at her window without mov- 
 ing, looking out on the restless, surging mass. Where 
 
 193
 
 194 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 were they all going? Whence had they come? Had 
 each separate thoughts? It was maddening. 
 
 Finally the chambermaid came in with some tow- 
 els and she turned to her, her face white as death. 
 
 "Where are all these people going?" she inquired 
 of the girl. 
 
 " \Vhere are they going? " asked the maid amazed. 
 
 " Yes, do they rush up and down that way all the 
 time?" 
 
 " Why, of course; that's Broadway." And she 
 laughed. 
 
 " I've never been here before," Page explained. 
 " I'm from the South Virginia." 
 
 Her emphasis on the word " Virginia " appeared 
 to make no impression on the girl, although Page 
 thrilled as she spoke it. Her being here she felt made 
 no impression. 
 
 The girl straightened the table cover and went out. 
 It had been the same when she had tried to establish 
 sympathy between the cab-driver and herself by also 
 telling him she was a stranger and from Virginia. 
 He did not even reply merely pocketed the money 
 she handed him, touched the rim of his hat, and drove 
 off. 
 
 This unsympathetic manner of the working-people 
 was most disturbing; it robbed her of a pleasant 
 patronage that she had always indulged in. When 
 she finally retired for the night, her excited thoughts 
 kept her from sleeping, and, in spite of the delightful 
 bed, she got up, went to the window again, and there 
 on her knees spent the better part of the night. 
 
 It appeared to her that the same people she had seen 
 in the morning were still walking. They walked all 
 night. At one time she thought that the people were
 
 THE LOST SHEEP 195 
 
 stationary and the sidewalks moving; that they were 
 simply being borne along by some mechanical con- 
 trivance. Women as well as men made up the pro- 
 cession. At two o'clock the moon appeared in sight 
 and looked down on it all for an hour. Then it dis- 
 appeared. The people never disappeared. A new 
 army had arrived; working men and working girls. 
 The men looked to her like lumps of iron, and the 
 girls like starved, frightened birds. 
 
 At six o'clock she went to bed and fell asleep with 
 the roar still in her ears. She slept until late and was 
 barely dressed at eleven o'clock when a new chamber- 
 maid entered. She was a tall dark haired girl and 
 seemed to Page of a more sociable turn. She in- 
 quired of her immediately where the other maid was, 
 the one she had seen the day before. 
 
 " Oh, she's gone," she replied. " They're always 
 changing here." 
 
 " Where do they go? " Page asked. 
 
 " Go ! They disappear ! " and she laughed. 
 
 Page felt this strangely. You then saw a person 
 to-day and to-morrow that person disappeared. It 
 was uncanny as though there was a big hole which 
 swallowed people up. 
 
 " And you never hear of them again? " 
 
 " Oh, sometimes, not often!" 
 
 Page smiled. "And will you disappear?" 
 
 " I might if the old woman gets cranky." She was 
 beating up the pillows. 
 
 " I hope you won't while I'm here." 
 
 "Well, maybe not. Going to stay long? 
 
 "I would like to if I can! I'm from the South, 
 where the awful war was fought!" 
 
 " The South?" said the girl, eyeing her.
 
 196 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 " The dear, sunny South ! " Page broke in. 
 
 " Well, you'll get along." 
 
 Page went up to the girl. "Why? Why do you 
 say that? I'm beginning to feel awfully afraid that 
 I won't!" 
 
 " Why, the men are all plumb crazy about South- 
 ern women." 
 
 "Why?" Page asked breathlessly. 
 
 " I don't know. There's two or three in this ho- 
 tel, and they live swell. One of 'em's- got a fine turn- 
 out." 
 
 "How do you know they are from the South?" 
 Page asked. 
 
 " Why, they tell you the minute they set eyes on 
 you, jest as you did." She was dusting the bureau 
 now. " But I've got so I can tell 'em. I knew what 
 you were before you opened your mouth." 
 
 " I'm glad of that. And being from Virginia is 
 a little different," Page tried to explain to her, " bet- 
 ter; you see Virginia was the mother of the other 
 states." 
 
 " I can put you on to a good boarding house if you 
 like," was all the girl replied, and when she was gone 
 Page sat down and began to think. 
 
 The men preferred the Southern women; several 
 lived in this hotel, and lived swell ; one had a carriage. 
 
 How could they afford to live in a grand hotel and 
 live " swell," and one have a carriage? 
 
 These questions tormented her so that when the 
 girl returned later with a waste basket she questioned 
 her. 
 
 " What do these Southern women in this hotel 
 do ? " she asked. 
 
 "Do? They have a good time."
 
 THE LOST SHEEP 197 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " Why, they go about, to the theater and every- 
 where." 
 
 "Are they then so rich?" inquired Page. 
 
 "You don't suppose I ask them?" 
 
 " No, of course not," Page answered, blushing. 
 
 When the girl went out and the door closed, she 
 thought a long time about returning home. A terri- 
 ble dread had seized her and a feeling of utter incom- 
 petence.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 DANGERS OF FREEDOM 
 
 IT had been Page's intention to remain one day in 
 the hotel and then find herself the cheap small room 
 of her dreams. 
 
 At the end of a month she had not made the 
 change. Two things held her. The fascination of 
 the luxury that surrounded her, and the fear of start- 
 ing out. 
 
 She had not been able to pen a line and still had 
 that drunk feeling as though she were being dosed 
 with strong wine. Her feeling of undefined alarm 
 had in no way deserted her. 
 
 She had come to New York with a purpose and her 
 purpose seemed slipping from her. She could not 
 conceive of herself writing in a place where motion 
 and noise never ceased. One day she joined the army 
 of paraders. All day long, at intervals, she marched 
 up and down Broadway, staring about her and into 
 the marvelous shops, especially those where flowers 
 were sold. The women and the flowers resembled 
 each other ; they appeared to her gorgeous but soulless. 
 Several times, tempted, she bought flowers in the 
 street but the roses had no odor and the violets had 
 a rank horrible perfume that revolted her. Always 
 they were wilted by the morning. 
 
 If only she knew someone to whom she could talk 
 and tell how the flowers smelt at home and kept fresh 
 for days ! But she might walk up and down a hun- 
 
 198
 
 DANGERS OF FREEDOM 199 
 
 dred years, she supposed, and never know a soul. 
 
 Several times she went into the crowded restau- 
 rants simply to try to hear what the people talked 
 about. She didn't catch much, but the places them- 
 selves affected her agreeably and at times she experi- 
 enced delicious sensations. Her thoughts, she felt, 
 would have filled volumes, but she could only revel in 
 them these spontaneous thoughts independent of 
 the control of others. Before she had always been 
 like one of a circle holding hands, her ideas never 
 wholly her own. Now she could think anything un- 
 der heaven that she liked and God seemed so far 
 away that she was not afraid of Him. She had no 
 doubt that it was possible here to forget God alto- 
 gether. 
 
 Letters from home remained unanswered. A pile 
 of them lay unopened on her center-table. She 
 feared to be recalled to attached conditions, and 
 scarcely dared touch them. To be unrelated was like 
 being freed of a tight bandage about the head. She 
 began to ask herself what Dave was to her if there 
 really was any Dave or any home for that matter. 
 Had she simply had a dream of an hour of these 
 things and awakened, or had she fallen asleep for an 
 hour. All the reality that remained to her was the 
 heavens and before going to sleep she would hold fast 
 to the window sill and study them long and faith- 
 fully. 
 
 There were moments when this life of non-respon- 
 sibility was so intoxicating that she felt tempted to 
 remain in the hotel until she had spent all her money 
 and see what would happen to her. She spoke to no 
 one except the chambermaids and the waiters. Any- 
 thing that suggested an interruption to her present
 
 200 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 isolation, even God, she held aloof from. It was so 
 wonderful to revel undisturbed in her own personality 
 that she desired only herself. She often saw, with 
 her mind's eye, the bricks of her home falling, one 
 by one, the whole gradually being leveled to the 
 ground. But it no longer made any impression on 
 her. 
 
 Half mad letters and telegrams came from Dave. 
 She paid no attention to them. 
 
 One morning the maid, who had grown quite famil- 
 iar, knocked and entered at the same time. She was 
 bent double with laughter and when Page inquired 
 the cause of her merriment she controlled her mirth 
 and told her that she " had caught her at it again." 
 
 " Caught who at what ? " Page asked. 
 
 " There's a young lady in number 43 who lives off 
 what she can steal off the trays set outside by people 
 who order up." 
 
 " Whatf " 
 
 " Yes, and she's a Southerner ! She says she comes 
 from Tennessee and she is pretty too, only she looks 
 so starved. You've seen her, haven't you; that young 
 girl with the big scared eyes and the changed hair ? " 
 
 Page had seen such a girl prowling cat-like about 
 the halls and sitting listlessly at times in the parlors. 
 
 " What did you say she does?" she asked puzzled. 
 
 " Why, she lives in a hotel because she says she 
 can't stand a boarding house, that she's bound to 
 have elegance around her, and she steals off the hall 
 trays before the waiters take them down." 
 
 "Steals what?" 
 
 " Anything she can, anything that's left. A roll, 
 or potato, or cold chop, anything ! She knows I know 
 it too."
 
 DANGERS OF FREEDOM 201 
 
 Page felt herself pale. "Don't say that!" she 
 cried. "It's too horrible. Is she so poor?" 
 
 "Poor! She's starving!" 
 
 " Poor creature ! " Page cried, tears gushing to her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Poor creature? Why don't she go and get her- 
 self a room in a boarding house? She can get room 
 and board for what she pays here for the room alone. 
 She says she's got to have elegant surroundings ! " 
 The maid repeated this, laughing. As Page looked 
 upon her coarse, red face and well-fed body, she con- 
 trasted her with the little famished soul whose 
 startled eyes had met hers several times, and who 
 probably feared that possibly she also had detected 
 her thefts. 
 
 " It's true, Annie," she replied ; " you can't under- 
 stand it, but it's true; some Southern women can't 
 live without luxuries. I know in Richmond, a Mrs. 
 Burwell " 
 
 " Well, maybe they can't." the girl interrupted, 
 " but when they fall that low they fall lower, and 
 I've told her so." 
 
 The girl left the room and Page fell into a trance. 
 Pride and the difficulty of adjustment to new and 
 sordid conditions had caused this poor girl to pur- 
 chase her existence in congenial surroundings at the 
 expense of the last vestige of self-respect. 
 
 The little startled, pathetic face, the thin, almost 
 emanciated, form and tiny bird-like hands, little thiev- 
 ing hands, rose before her. The girl, this famished 
 girl, without self-respect, was the victim of luxury to 
 which she was born, which had descended to her 
 through generations, and of which she had been ruth- 
 lessly robbed. And what was the difference between
 
 202 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 that girl and herself? She hadn't stolen from the 
 trays. Possibly that was all. Perhaps the girl 
 didn't at first; perhaps she didn't for a long time; 
 perhaps it was only when her money was giving out! 
 Oh, what a horrible thing what a pitiful thing! 
 She was quite sure now that neither she nor any one 
 could dream what they might come to. 
 
 She would call Annie, find out that boarding house, 
 and move at once.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE SKY-LIGHT ROOM 
 
 THE following day she moved to the boarding 
 house the chambermaid had recommended and discov- 
 ered that it was, on first sight, quite as handsome as 
 the hotel. This was a great surprise. Boarding 
 houses that she had seen in Richmond were all 
 wretched affairs places of refuge for the despair- 
 ing. This boarding house was imposing. A large 
 brown-stone front house with handsome lace curtains 
 at the parlor windows; a solemn, important looking 
 hall, and innumerable rooms of all descriptions. 
 
 She climbed the four flights of stairs to the only 
 vacant, single room that could be offered, in elated 
 spirits. This room was in the center of the hall, the 
 hall itself being covered by a fine glass dome, and 
 was, what she had never seen before, a sky-light room. 
 There were no windows on the sides, and the light 
 and air came in from above. There was a blue cur- 
 tain that she could pull backwards and forwards to 
 admit or shut out the sun. The furniture was not 
 handsome; it had the look of having finally landed 
 there after hard tribulation, just as Page had. Her 
 little bed, after the fine one in the hotel, looked prim 
 and uninviting. 
 
 The hostess informed her that this room was 
 rented mostly to gentlemen who simply wanted a place 
 to sleep, but that if it suited her, she could have it 
 
 303
 
 204 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 for seven dollars a week. This, she declared, was 
 very cheap, but she supposed Page meant to be per- 
 manent. 
 
 Page decided that it did suit very well and assured 
 Mrs. Nesbit that she was very thankful to have 
 found it. 
 
 What a relief it was to know that her three meals 
 a day were arranged for. A new life would begin 
 for her, and shut up, as in a prison, she hoped to be- 
 gin to write! To this outburst Mrs. Nesbit made no 
 reply. She was examining a tear in the carpet which 
 she said would be attended to and which Page as- 
 sured her made not the least difference, begging that 
 she would not give it a thought. 
 
 When her hostess, for Page so styled her, had re- 
 tired, she took her seat on the side of her little bed 
 and looked about her. 
 
 Voices reached her from the adjoining room ; cigar 
 smoke came through the transom and the sound of 
 a piano being played on the floor below greeted her 
 ear. It was as though she had entered a new world 
 and shut the door on the old one. She lay down on 
 her little bed and fixed her eyes on the patch of blue 
 sky that looked down on her from the sky-light. 
 Somehow since she had been in this little room she 
 seemed to be the only human being in the world, a 
 human being utterly alone who had dreamed of peo- 
 ple and things. 
 
 As though to deny this, Dave came up more real 
 than she had ever beheld him. It irritated her. 
 Why could she not shut Dave out of her mind? It 
 was as though he were trying to control her through 
 all this space. There came over her suddenly mo- 
 mentary weariness that lasted until someone com-
 
 THE SKY-LIGHT ROOM 205 
 
 menced singing downstairs, some woman with a clear 
 strong voice. Page had never heard such a voice, or 
 such singing. It was as though a human frame held 
 a captured angel who was pouring forth a song. Who 
 was this wonderful singer? Perhaps some visitor 
 and she would never see her never know who she 
 was. The voice would cease and that would be the 
 end. 
 
 That was what she could not get used to so many 
 thousands of people she didn't know and never would 
 know, who had lived all the while she had, existing 
 all apart from her. 
 
 If someone sung at home she knew who it was, 
 just who gave her music lessons, all the stages of her 
 progression, and it was not so interesting, not so al- 
 luring; the element of mystery was lacking. At last 
 the voice ceased and everything was still again. 
 
 The room was growing dark; drowsiness stole over 
 her and she fell asleep. She must have slept very 
 soundly for she did not awake during the afternoon. 
 
 At seven o'clock the maid knocked and told her 
 she would be late for dinner. She rose, feeling dull 
 and stupid, scarcely knowing where she was and looked 
 about her. 
 
 It was a strange sensation to find herself in a little 
 square windowless room with the moon shining 
 straight down on her head. She looked up at it and 
 then again about her. By the light from the hall 
 transom, she could distinguish objects clearly. Pass- 
 ing her hand across her tumbled head without arrang- 
 ing her toilet, she descended the stairs timidly. 
 
 At the dining-room door a flood of light burst into 
 her face and she stopped embarrassed. She had no 
 idea of seeing such a crowd of people. There were
 
 206 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 from forty to fifty persons of all kinds and descrip- 
 tions assembled, among them men and women in 
 evening dress. 
 
 Several waitresses were in attendance. Knives and 
 forks and dishes rattled from a room somewhere in 
 the rear. Mrs. Nesbit appeared from this rear room 
 with a flushed face, led her in, seated her at a center 
 seat of the large table that occupied the middle of the 
 room and formally introduced her. 
 
 " Miss Warwick, ladies and gentlemen," she said. 
 After a glance or two at her, Page seemed to be for- 
 gotten and conversation went on unbrokenly as her 
 soup was placed before her. 
 
 So this was a New York boarding house! Cer- 
 tainly she had never before seen anything so daz- 
 zlingly brilliant, and not a person but who appeared 
 boldly at ease except herself. And the dinner itself! 
 What an elaborate display. 
 
 Page had noticed over by the window a small va- 
 cant table, and was half wondering who had the 
 honor of a table to him or herself, when suddenly a 
 gentleman, so like her Cousin Edmund that she actu- 
 ally started, entered the doorway. 
 
 He was a fair man of about sixty, of pink-and- 
 white complexion, rather corpulent, faultlessly dressed, 
 and wore a white rosebud in the lapel of his coat. 
 
 The whole dining-room said, " Good-evening, Col- 
 onel," in a chorus, but the Colonel, who, Page noticed, 
 walked unsteadily, only waved his hand, bowed 
 slightly, and asked in a soldierly fashion of one of 
 the waitresses where Mrs. Nesbit was. 
 
 " In the kitchen, sir," the girl replied. 
 
 " Tell her to come here ! " the Colonel then com- 
 manded imperatively.
 
 THE SKY-LIGHT ROOM 207 
 
 " She's busy with the carving, Colonel." 
 
 " Tell her to come here ! " repeated the Colonel 
 slowly and with emphasis. 
 
 " That's Colonel Beverly," an old lady whispered 
 to Page. " He's been boarding with Mrs. Nesbit for 
 nine years ! " 
 
 "Yes?" Page answered with great interest. 
 
 " He's a Virginian, and he thinks he owns the whole 
 place." And she whispered : " He's a pretty hard 
 drinker. Do you see that one over there opposite 
 you? " she added. 
 
 "That grave looking man?" Page asked. 
 
 " Yes. Well, he's been here ten years. There's 
 great rivalry." 
 
 "He's not a Virginian?" Page asked. 
 
 " Oh, no," and the old lady whispered again, " he's 
 
 from Vermont. He's the editor of . " She 
 
 named a conspicuous paper. 
 
 " Oh ! " Page stared at the gentlemen. 
 
 In the meantime the Colonel was still clamoring 
 for Mrs. Nesbit, who finally entered rather meekly 
 and threw an apron over her hand. 
 
 "Did you send for me, Colonel?" 
 
 " Yes, madam, I did ! " answered the Colonel 
 pompously. 
 
 "Well, Colonel?" 
 
 " I want to ask you a question, madam ! " 
 
 Mrs. Nesbit shifted her position. 
 
 " I've been in your house for ten years, madam, 
 haven't I?" 
 
 "Nine, Colonel," said the Vermonter. 
 
 "Well, then," and the Colonel glared, "nine; I've 
 been in this house nine years, haven't I ? " 
 
 " Yes, Colonel."
 
 208 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 " And during that time you've never heard me tell 
 a lie, have you? " 
 
 A young man over at a corner table whistled, and 
 the Colonel turned ferociously, "Well, sir ? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing, Colonel." 
 
 " Oh, do sit down and have your dinner, Colonel," 
 said the old lady at Page's side. 
 
 The Colonel bowed very low to her. " With all 
 due deference to you, madam, when a question has 
 been settled. Nine years ; is that right, Mr. Dalton ? " 
 
 " Quite so, sir," said the editor from Vermont. 
 
 "Well, then, Mrs. Nesbit, in all that time, those 
 nine years, have I ever had a decent mint julep in the 
 City of New York?" 
 
 " I never heard you say so, Colonel." 
 
 " Never heard me say so! Have I ever had one? " 
 
 " No, Colonel." 
 
 " Very well, madam ; thank you. That is all." 
 And the Colonel took his seat. 
 
 During this little scene conversation was only partly 
 arrested. People were talking on various subjects. 
 Card parties were being arranged. Some were hurry- 
 ing the waitresses because they were going to the thea- 
 ter, and in the midst of it all, dazed and confused, 
 Page sat looking on, trying to take it all in. 
 
 In spite of her efforts to shut her out, poor little 
 Sadie May kept cropping up. She felt irritated at 
 this; it seemed so silly. The vision remained, how- 
 ever, as well as the little house falling to pieces, and 
 the old tree that she supposed had long since been 
 carted away. 
 
 She sat through it all until they brought her her 
 little cup of black coffee, and then, as she had seen the 
 others rise informally and leave the table, she did so, 
 glad to escape.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 BOARDING HOUSE LIFE 
 
 THE moonlight had gone when Page reached her 
 room, and she could see half a dozen beautiful stars 
 shining down. 
 
 She thought ,she would like to tell Dave of this lit- 
 tle patch of the heaven that she could look up at and 
 see any moment if she chose, and was suddenly stung 
 by the consciousness of how she had been neglecting 
 those at home. 
 
 Then she fell to musing upon all she had seen and 
 heard downstairs and all she was experiencing. She 
 thought how wonderful her life was becoming, how 
 inexplicable and marvelous it was for her to be here 
 in this dazzling place. And how delightful that there 
 was someone, here from Virginia. Oh! How she 
 wanted to speak out and tell the Colonel she would 
 make a mint julep for him! She was interrupted in 
 these pleasant thoughts by a light tap on her door. 
 To her cheery " Come in " her old lady neighbor en- 
 tered. 
 
 " I thought I would just run in first to ask how 
 you were getting along, and see if I could borrow 
 some matches," 
 
 "Why, certainly," said Page, cordially. ''Won't 
 you take a seat? " 
 
 " Perhaps you're tired out and want to go to bed? " 
 
 " Oh, no, I fell asleep before dinner. I was tired 
 
 when I got here to-day! " 
 
 209
 
 2io THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 " You're a Southerner, aren't you? " 
 
 " Yes, Virginian." It would come out. 
 
 " Well, I'm from Indiana." 
 
 Page laughed. 
 
 "Why do you laugh?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know, but Indiana and all such places 
 have been so unreal to me that to meet someone who 
 was really born there and to find her a real human be- 
 ing surprised me ! " It was so delightful to be talk- 
 ing to someone. " Oh ! Pardon me ! " she rambled 
 on, " I have funny ideas sometimes. Do you know 
 that Vermont is simply to me a green spot of one 
 shape and Indiana a pink spot of another on the map 
 of America ? " 
 
 The old lady peered at Page. " How did you hear 
 about this house any one send you here ? " 
 
 " Why, the chambermaid at the hotel told me ! 
 She said she had lived here two years," Page an- 
 swered. 
 
 " What was her name? " 
 
 " Annie." 
 
 " Oh, there have been dozens of Annies. They're 
 all alike. Do you think you will like it here ? " 
 
 " I certainly do. It seems magnificent to me." 
 
 " Magnificent ! " The old lady looked aghast. 
 "Did you take beef?" 
 
 " No, they brought me chicken, I think." 
 
 " Well, that may be why you think it magnificent. 
 If you had had my piece of beef you might have had 
 a different impression." 
 
 This all seemed very funny to Page, and she 
 laughed again merrily. 
 
 " I don't believe I would have thought of it," she 
 replied.
 
 BOARDING HOUSE LIFE 211 
 
 " Going to be long here? " 
 
 " Oh, I hope so." 
 
 :< You've got the sky-light room," looking around 
 her little room, " haven't you? " 
 
 " Yes, and I really like it. Why, I can just sit 
 and look at the sky all day and night too, if I like." 
 
 "Look at the sky through that little hole? Well, 
 you Southern people are funny! We generally have 
 about a dozen in the house, but there's nobody but the 
 Colonel now." 
 
 " Is that all? " Page asked. 
 
 " I suppose you'll soon be in hot water like the rest 
 of them! Now see here, my dear what's your 
 name? " 
 
 " Warwick." 
 
 " Well, Miss Warwick, I've been living in board- 
 ing houses for thirty years, and my advice to you is 
 to keep your mouth shut; even when you eat keep 
 your mouth shut! " 
 
 " Oh, I will," Page laughed. 
 
 " They'll try to drag you in." 
 
 "Will they?" 
 
 " And if they do, give it to them." 
 
 " I'm afraid I wouldn't be equal to them." 
 
 " Oh, I know you Southerners; all you've got to do 
 is to get you mad. Did you say you could lend me 
 some matches ? " 
 
 " Certainly." Page got her some. 
 
 " Well, good-night. We're on the same floor. 
 I'm 22. If you want anything just call on me." 
 
 Page opened the door for this strange, gossipy lit- 
 tle lady, and saw her toddle off to her room. Just as 
 she was closing it the landlady appeared at the head 
 of the steps.
 
 212 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 " Wait a moment, Miss Warwick; I was just com- 
 ing up to speak to you." 
 
 Page waited. 
 
 " Has old Miss Jenkins been in to see you? " she 
 asked, entering. 
 
 " An old lady has been in, yes." 
 
 " Found out your name, where you were from ? " 
 
 " Yes," Page replied. 
 
 " Well, she does that to everybody who arrives. 
 Now if you value your life, Miss Warwick, don't get 
 in with her. I don't like to discuss my boarders, but 
 that old creature is a holy terror. She gives me more 
 trouble than the whole house, and that's saying a good 
 deal, for I have some pretty troublesome ones." 
 
 " I am sure you must have," said Page, sympathetic- 
 ally." I felt awfully sorry for you when the Colonel 
 questioned you so." 
 
 " Oh, the Colonel, nobody minds the Colonel ; he's 
 just like a big baby. Everybody worships him. He 
 has his failings," and Mrs. Nesbit turned an imag- 
 inary glass to her lips, " but as I said, nobody minds 
 him. Ah, if only they were all like the Colonel," and 
 Mrs. Nesbit sighed. 
 
 " I hope 7 won't give you any trouble, Mrs. Nes- 
 bit ! " Page exclaimed. 
 
 " Well, I don't suppose you will ; but, you won't 
 mind my saying it, I hope, Miss Warwick, the whole 
 fact of the matter is I am skittish about Southerners, 
 and especially Southern girls." 
 
 "Why?" asked Page, surprised. 
 
 "They're apt to fly the track," and Mrs. Nesbit 
 shook her head. 
 
 " Fly the track? " Page repeated. 
 
 " Not that they do so much real harm, but they
 
 BOARDING HOUSE LIFE 213 
 
 don't always behave like ladies, and that's the real 
 truth." 
 
 Page looked amazed. "Why, I never heard of 
 such a thing! " she half gasped. 
 
 " They say New York turns their heads," said Mrs. 
 Nesbit sadly, " and I suppose it's true. Something 
 does. You see they're pretty, and they know how to 
 entertain the men with nonsense. And they take easy 
 to drinking." 
 
 "Drinking!" Page gasped. 
 
 " I'm only telling you," Mrs. Nesbit went on. 
 " I've seen scores of them go to pieces since I've been 
 keeping boarding houses in this street ; sweet girls, too. 
 You see the whole trouble is they not only don't mean 
 any harm, but when they arrive here they don't know 
 any, and they can be led off; even the Colonel gets 
 led off. But it's different with a man. Well, I must 
 be going. I'm tired out. I'm always tired for that 
 matter, but there's one thing I long since told my 
 Maker, Miss Warwick, and that was that I didn't hold 
 myself responsible for Southern girls who came to 
 board in this house. It may not be right, but it's 
 true. Why, you can't any more hold'm than you can 
 rabbits. Have you everything you want ? " she asked 
 abruptly. 
 
 " Thank you, everything." 
 
 " Well, good-night." 
 
 " Good-night." Page caught her by the sleeve. 
 " Mrs. Nesbit," she pleaded hesitatingly, " don't 
 think that way about the Southern girls under your 
 roof! Please don't!" 
 
 Mrs. Nesbit turned and looked at her. 
 
 " Don't you know don't you see, it's the war, 
 the awful war that's thrown us on the world?"
 
 214 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 Page exclaimed. " Don't wash your hands of us ! " 
 
 " Why don't you stay home and fight it out there ? " 
 Mrs. Nesbit asked. 
 
 " I don't know," Page answered guiltily, and 
 flushed. 
 
 " Well, you ought to. Good-night. Let me know 
 if you want anything." 
 
 Page stood still watching her depart, feeling fool- 
 ish and regretting her betrayal of emotion. At home 
 any woman to whom she had thus appealed would 
 have folded her in her arms. She felt distinctly as 
 she turned into her room that she was a boarder in a 
 New York boarding house, and, for the first time in 
 her life, the necessity of controlling and hiding her 
 feelings. 
 
 She wasn't sleepy, so she sat down again and looked 
 about her. Her trunk had been put in her room while 
 she was at dinner. It stared at her and she kept read- 
 ing her name, " Page Warwick, Richmond, Vir- 
 ginia." 
 
 She looked up at the sky but it no longer interested 
 her. The moon was gone and a dark cloud had cov- 
 ered the stars. Suddenly she felt very lonely. A 
 calm settled upon her that was worse than the intoxi- 
 cated feeling she had experienced in the hotel. All 
 excitement had died out of her, and she longed for 
 sympathetic companionship if only for a few mo- 
 ments. She looked up at the dark hole above her 
 head and indulged in her old dream of a lover sud- 
 denly appearing. If only a pair of merry eyes would 
 look down upon her how happy she would be. And 
 then if hands would be extended and she could be 
 dragged up on the roof with the wind blowing and 
 the black clouds moving about. And then suppose
 
 BOARDING HOUSE LIFE 215 
 
 just suppose she would find it was Dave! 
 
 Presently a party of men passed her door and pretty 
 soon she heard the shuffling and playing of cards and 
 the rattle of poker chips. This kept up like an ac- 
 companiment to her thoughts and the cigar smoke that 
 came in her room caused her a little excitement. 
 
 She finally went to bed, a bare suspicion of the im- 
 mensity of things outside of the realm of familiarity 
 pleasantly disturbing. She was conscious of an enor- 
 mous, unconcerned world, grotesquely controlled by 
 a god or a devil, she was not sure which. 
 
 Back of it lay Virginia, still bleeding, devastated 
 and desolate, but proud and serene. Her eyes lin- 
 gered upon the picture, fascinated; but she was quite 
 content that the picture lay far distant.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 WET BLANKETS 
 
 THE following- morning Page entered the dining- 
 room late for the breakfast hour. 
 
 Fifty or more boarders had already breakfasted; 
 the glamour of the evening meal was dispelled, and the 
 table-cloths were far from spotless. 
 
 A few people, mostly women, were breakfasting. 
 In their negliges, with their cosmetics and languid 
 mannerisms, they appeared to Page very attractive. 
 A particular woman, who had caught her attention 
 the evening before by a somewhat resplendent person- 
 ality, stared at her once or twice. 
 
 This woman, whose manner was aggressively posi- 
 tive, surprised Page by her irritability. She spoke 
 sharply to the waitress and made an unusually caustic 
 and sarcastic reply to a weak-eyed, weak-voiced fe- 
 male, who timidly addressed her. Her rather harsh 
 voice had grated upon Page's ear unpleasantly. 
 
 There was a certain coarseness too about her that 
 Page resented, but the marvelous brown eyes, strong 
 white teeth, and richly colored lips, were dazzling and 
 captivating. 
 
 In sharp contrast to the others present, she was the 
 perfection of neatness, held herself erect and was 
 smartly gowned for the street. Her gloves, a hand- 
 bag, and a pile of letters were beside her plate. 
 
 " I'm from the West," she announced, as the wait- 
 ress retired and she caught Page's eye, " and when I 
 give orders I like to see people move! " 
 
 216
 
 WET BLANKETS 217 
 
 Page laughed. " It seems to me," she said, " they 
 are flying all the time ! It makes me quite dizzy." 
 
 "Flying! In this place? Why, there isn't a 
 boarding house in New York where they have such 
 poor service. You give an order and the servant 
 takes ten minutes to turn around to start off with it. 
 The reason is that the place is, half the time, filled 
 up with a lot of lazy Southerners." 
 
 " I'm a Southerner! " Page replied quickly. 
 
 " You don't for an instant suppose I didn't know 
 it, do you?" The woman laughed. "You South- 
 ern people carry placards around ! " 
 
 " We are not ashamed of who we are! " Page re- 
 torted. 
 
 "Of course not! You glory in yourselves and 
 whatever you do ! " 
 
 " You seem to know a good deal about us! " Page 
 returned curtly. 
 
 " I've seen enough of you," the woman answered 
 unmoved. " What are you girls all piling up here 
 for, anyway? Didn't they leave you any men there 
 at all?" 
 
 Page stared at her amazed. " What you say sounds 
 rather shocking," she replied. 
 
 "Oh! Nonsense! What are you doing here?" 
 As Page hesitated she went on : "I wouldn't ask you, 
 but I know the very last one of you likes to tell every- 
 thing about herself from the name of her great-great- 
 grandfather, down to what she had for breakfast, to 
 everybody she meets." 
 
 " I came here to pursue a literary career," replied 
 Page with dignity. 
 
 " Oh ! " the lady returned with a comprehensive 
 glance. "Alone?" she added pointedly.
 
 218 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 " Entirely," said Page, whose cheeks had flushed. 
 
 " I wish I could color up as you do," remarked the 
 woman carelessly. 
 
 " I wish I didn't! " emphasized Page hotly. 
 
 " Oh, it's a curable disease ! New York is medi- 
 cine for that and similar Southern ills." She laughed, 
 gathered up her gloves and bag and left the room. 
 
 " What is the character of your literary work, Miss 
 Warwick?" asked the editor, who had been scanning 
 her critically during her conversation. 
 
 " I'm writing a novel of the South, sir," Page an- 
 swered, her blush deepening, " a novel of Virginia." 
 
 He smiled an indulgent smile. 
 
 " A love story ? " he asked. 
 
 Page, who thought she had never seen such clear, 
 searching eyes, gave vent to a little nervous laugh. 
 
 " Oh, no! " she exclaimed, " it's something far more 
 serious. I hardly think you could call it a ro- 
 mance at all, although, of course, it contains a love 
 story." 
 
 " I see." 
 
 " Properly speaking," Page answered, encouraged 
 by a smile from the Colonel and slightly flattered by 
 the attention of the table, " my novel is a series of 
 pen-pictures of a period in the history of my people 
 that I think ought to prove most interesting! " 
 
 "Yes?" Mr. Dalton was breaking his eggs and 
 didn't look up. 
 
 " You see," Page exclaimed somewhat vehemently, 
 " they are put down by an eye-witness and with the 
 heart's blood ! " 
 
 Mr. Dalton returned his eggs to the kitchen as too 
 hard and then gave her his attention. 
 
 " The public is heartless, Miss Warwick," he said.
 
 WET BLANKETS 219 
 
 " It doesn't care how much blood is spilt in an effort, 
 but what kind of splashes the blood makes." 
 
 Page's eyes flashed. " I understand that," she re- 
 plied, "of course! But don't you think that the 
 splashes that I describe, the after effects of war, all 
 the horrors surrounding the survivors of war, should 
 be interesting? " 
 
 " Not necessarily." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " Page asked eagerly, and 
 bending forward over her plate. 
 
 " That literary matter depends greatly upon how 
 it is handled, how it is presented to the reader." 
 
 "Yes?" Page asked. 
 
 " There may be purely personal pictures not calcu- 
 lated to inspire interest in any one, except those al- 
 ready interested." 
 
 " Everybody in the South would be interested in 
 my pictures ! " Page exclaimed. 
 
 " But unfortunately the people who buy books are 
 not in the South, at present, Miss Warwick, and the 
 object of publishers in publishing a book is to sell it." 
 
 " You are not very encouraging, Mr. Dalton," 
 Page exclaimed, with a musical but slightly hysterical 
 laugh. " Nevertheless, I think my book will sell ! " 
 
 " Why your book especially? " Dalton inquired, and 
 Page thought him rude. 
 
 " Because it's all true! Because every scene in it 
 is from life! " 
 
 " All lives are not interesting," remarked Dalton. 
 
 " But the lives of Virginians are interesting, aren't 
 they?" 
 
 Dalton smiled and said nothing. 
 
 " I've described all the feelings, the real feelings 
 of my people since since their our- she
 
 220 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 paused, " defeat ! Those feelings are very real and 
 intense, Mr. Dalton! We aren't one bit defeated in 
 our hearts we aren't, and you can believe what I 
 say even though twenty years have passed, at all 
 reconciled ! " 
 
 Dalton again made no reply, but something in his 
 expression nettled and urged her on. 
 
 " The old scar still aches," she burst forth, her 
 cheeks now violently aflame. " Wives still lament 
 their murdered husbands; mothers still dream of their 
 murdered sons, and our dear old maiden ladies still 
 cherish the memory of blighted dreams. As for we 
 younger ones," she laughed defiantly, " I can tell you, 
 we are fired into pain and fury by the tales they tell 
 us!" 
 
 "Are you?" 
 
 While melodious, his voice was so composed and 
 calm that Page stared at him. 
 
 " Are we ? " Another defiant laugh rang out. 
 " If you could read in the secret corners of our hearts 
 you would see that in spirit not one of us has yielded ! 
 We are the unconquered defeated ! " 
 
 She glanced at the Colonel for approbation and, 
 receiving it, went on more excitedly: 
 
 " Don't we prove it, just as soon as the money can 
 be raised, by erecting a monument or a statue to some 
 fallen hero that we may continue to honor our wor- 
 shiped martyred ones and shout and weep anew! 
 Oh! You should witness one of our unveilings! 
 There is as much enthusiasm, madness if you will, in 
 the hearts of the people as there was one year after 
 the sword of General Lee was yielded up to General 
 Grant!" 
 
 " That's right, Miss Warwick, you tell the Yankees
 
 WET BLANKETS 221 
 
 these things! " the Colonel, who was leaving the din- 
 ing-room, called out. 
 
 " My dear Colonel," Mr. Dalton interjected, " you 
 should not mislead Miss Warwick! Novels, such as 
 she describes hers to be, are pouring in to the publish- 
 ers by the score. The rebels are still yelling, as she 
 admits, and waving the bloody shirt, but it isn't good 
 policy." 
 
 ;< We don't care about good policy ! " Page burst 
 forth, receiving a smile from the Colonel at the door. 
 
 Mr. Dalton perceptibly raised his massive shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 " Recklessness of policy is Southern folly, Miss 
 Warwick, and I believe you would find it more profit- 
 able to tell in your books of all the benefits the war 
 has brought about." 
 
 " What benefits ? There aren't any benefits that I 
 can see! I never will see any benefit from that 
 wicked, cruel war, Mr. Dalton ! Never ! " 
 
 " But you can't go on looking at things from one 
 side, Miss Warwick! Without that war our devel- 
 opment as a civilized nation couldn't have gone on ! " 
 
 " I see only the other side! " Page retorted. 
 " What war destroyed! " 
 
 " Yes, but that is the personal, the trifling 1 side. 
 I'm not speaking of Virginia, you know, but the whole 
 world! The trouble with you Virginians is that you 
 consider Virginia the one important spot in the uni- 
 verse. Now if one of your spring freshets was to 
 come along and wash it off the map we here in New 
 York would have our breakfast just the same." 
 
 " Virginia is the grandest spot in the world, Mr. 
 Dalton!" Page exclaimed through tears. "She has 
 never been anything but supreme in the eyes of her
 
 222 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 people ! I won't sit here and hear her criticised ! " 
 
 " But," said Dalton, smiling, " you should be brought 
 to the realization of the fact that she has had her 
 day a very interesting and tragic one, I admit, but 
 you must also admit that she is now a back number ! " 
 
 Page suddenly paled. " Do you consider your 
 grandmother a back number, Mr. Dalton, because she 
 has had her day as you express it ? " 
 
 " I haven't one, but if I had I certainly would ! " 
 
 She laughed nervously. " I suppose," she re- 
 turned, "it is because sentiment is not estimated by 
 you as a part of life. With us, you know it is; we 
 reverence all the more that which, as you put it, has 
 had its day. All the old ladies in Virginia are 
 queens ! " 
 
 " Up here, Miss Warwick, we reverence that which 
 is advancing, pushing ahead, becoming of use ! " 
 
 " Virginia will rise again ! " Page exclaimed, routed 
 but holding her ground. 
 
 " Possibly," said Mr. Dalton, quietly, " but before 
 she does if her people would stop prating it would be 
 better. You Virginians remind me of a lot of chick- 
 ens out in the rain cackling about what a fine hen- 
 house they have. If it is so fine why aren't you 
 there?" 
 
 " I ought to be ! " Page exclaimed, through a gush 
 of tears. 
 
 " I agree with you," Dalton answered, and left the 
 table. 
 
 " The next time," whispered Miss Jenkins, " you 
 just give it to him! " 
 
 But Page, humiliated and still fighting her tears, 
 did not reply. 
 
 Mrs. Nesbit appeared at the doorway and made an 
 irrelevant remark about people talking and holding
 
 WET BLANKETS 223 
 
 back the table, and Page hurriedly left the dining- 
 room. 
 
 She climbed the steps overwhelmed by emotions 
 which she attempted to control, but once in her room 
 she flung herself, face downwards, on her bed and 
 burst into a torrent of tears. 
 
 When her composure was partly restored and she 
 was on her feet, moving aimlessly about her room, a 
 sudden and acute homesickness overtook her and in- 
 tense longing for the presence of Dave. 
 
 Seating herself and taking her little portfolio on 
 her knees, she wrote a long letter to Dave which was, 
 wholly unconscious on her part, a furious appeal for 
 sympathy. 
 
 When it was finished she decided to mail it imme- 
 diately and at the foot of the stairs encountered Mrs. 
 Wilton, who was entering the front door. 
 
 " Hello ! " said that lady with a smile. " Going 
 out?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Page graciously, " I'm going to 
 mail a letter ! " 
 
 " Been pouring out your woes, eh ! I met old Miss 
 Jenkins in the drug store and she said you and Dalton 
 had a round after I left. I wonder," she added, 
 " what makes you Southerners such fools ! " 
 
 "Are we?" Page asked curiously. 
 
 "Of course! The last one of you! Now, why 
 do you bother your head with what a selfish prig like 
 that Dalton has to say? Don't you know he lives 
 only for himself and to be disagreeable? What do 
 you do with yourself all day?" she then inquired 
 abruptly. 
 
 " Work! " Page burst forth. " I'm working on my 
 novel!" 
 
 " Is that so? Say, wasn't that breakfast this morn-
 
 224 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 ing horrible? I didn't eat mine and I know, with 
 Dalton at your heels, you didn't eat a mouthful ! I'll 
 tell you what to do! When you've posted your let- 
 ter come up to my room, second floor front. I'm 
 going over to a little French place in Twenty-seventh 
 Street to get something decent to eat. I'll take you 
 along if you care to go! You'll say when you leave 
 there, that in spite of all your old Virginia cooking, 
 you've never eaten a meal or drank a cup of coffee 
 before. Will you go ? " 
 
 "Will I?" exclaimed Page, fighting another gush 
 of tears at this sudden encounter of kindness. " I 
 will be only too delighted ! To tell you the truth, I've 
 been pretty lonely since I came to New York, and to- 
 day I feel actually blue! You really would like me 
 to go with you? " 
 
 " Certainly, come along! It isn't a particularly fine 
 place these French restaurants never are but the 
 cooking is, and lots of literary people, writers, news- 
 paper men and all that, go there. I may meet some- 
 one I know and if I do I will introduce you." 
 
 "Oh! You are very kind!" Page cried, highly 
 elated. 
 
 " I hope you will continue," said Mrs. Wilton, 
 mounting the steps, " to live up to that statement 
 when you know me better. As for myself, I have 
 my doubts. But," she paused and looked back, " if 
 I can knock some of the Southern nonsense out of 
 you, we can have some good times ! " 
 
 Page thought how triumphantly beautiful Airs. 
 Wilton was, laughed, and ran out with her letter. 
 
 An hour later they were seated in the little French 
 restaurant.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR 
 
 " HERE'S a card for you, Miss Warwick," said the 
 maid, entering- Page's room a few mornings later. 
 She extended the card and Page, after staring at it, 
 sprang to her feet. 
 
 " Dave! " she exclaimed as the door closed on the 
 girl, a dozen conflicting emotions springing to her 
 heart. 
 
 She dressed herself as hurriedly as her excitement 
 would permit and descended to the parlor. 
 
 The first sight of him standing erect, his eyes fixed 
 upon the open door, angered her. 
 
 She had been having some exciting, pleasant hours 
 with her new-found friend, Mrs. Wilton, and his ar- 
 rival could mean but one thing: he had come to take 
 up the old struggle of standing like a wall between 
 her and her life of independence. 
 
 He sprang to meet her, his eyes aflame with love 
 and joy. 
 
 " Page! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Dave! " she echoed, putting her hands in his and 
 gazing up at him. '' What are you doing here?" 
 
 " Your letter brought me! " 
 
 "My letter?" 
 
 " Yes. The one I received yesterday. You said 
 you were lonely, depressed, had a helpless feeling: I 
 thought you needed me ! " 
 
 In a flash she understood. She had almost forgot- 
 
 225
 
 226 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 ten having written the doleful letter in the interesting 
 events that followed upon it. 
 
 " I shouldn't have written it," she said in a sup- 
 pressed voice. " I was tired something had hap- 
 pened to worry me it wasn't fair to myself ! I 
 shouldn't have written it ! " 
 
 " Oh ! But, Page, I'm glad you did ! It made me 
 forget everything that dreadful scene when I think 
 I must have been half-mad from grief and excitement 
 it made me forget that, and that you ran away 
 during my absence all the pain and anguish all 
 the anxiety your failure to write has caused me! I 
 forgot everything except that you were lonely had 
 turned to me for sympathy and that I was coming to 
 you as fast as the train could bring me ! " He took 
 up her hands. " To think that I am looking at you, 
 that your hands are in mine ! Oh ! If you knew how 
 happy I am! You do not know what this day is in 
 my life! It's the first pleasure, I believe, that I ever 
 openly, boldly, unstintingly gave myself!" 
 
 How natural his voice sounded, how used she was 
 to this flow of impassioned words. What memories 
 they brought back! 
 
 " Dave ! " she again exclaimed. 
 
 " Shall we sit here on this sofa? " he asked, glanc- 
 ing about him and leading her towards one. 
 
 When she was seated beside him, still holding her 
 hands, he went on. 
 
 " In the train last night, I didn't sleep much ; I sup- 
 pose I was very excited I kept saying to myself, 
 that I was coming to you. I finally made up my mind 
 to forget everything else ! Oh ! I have missed you 
 so ! " She thought he turned pale. " It has been so 
 desolate without you; sometimes it has seemed to me
 
 THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR 227 
 
 that there was not one soul left in the world but 
 mother and me ; that all the houses were vacant all 
 the streets deserted! Oh! my God, Page, the pain 
 of missing you! But I'm going to forget it for this 
 one day! I'm like the drunkard who has walked ten 
 miles for a drink and sees the glass before him I 
 saw my happiness ahead of me at every turn of the 
 wheels and I'm almost afraid to put out my hand 
 for the glass for fear of breaking it ! " 
 
 \Yhile Dave was ringing out these wild words, 
 Page's mind was partly on him and partly on the hap- 
 penings of the past two days. She tried to dismiss 
 these thoughts, the lunches and the supper she had had 
 as well as the people Mrs. Wilton had introduced her 
 to. Returning the firm pressure of his hand and 
 smiling into the famished eyes fixed upon her face, 
 she asked brightly: " And how is everybody, Dave? " 
 
 " Mother is well," he answered quite simply, " old 
 Aunt Martha has come home and they have fine times 
 together! " Dave's face clouded an instant. " Uncle 
 Ran has moved to his little country home in Amelia, 
 and my large salary," a tiny laugh broke forth, " as 
 junior member of the firm of Meredith and Lee is 
 supporting the establishment ! " 
 
 " Yes, I know," Page answered. " Aunt Constance 
 wrote me." 
 
 " We are very fine there now," he exclaimed boy- 
 ishly. " The mare has new harness and I wish you 
 could see mother in her new black silk ! She wore it 
 to St. Paul's last Sunday and everybody stared at her 
 and looked most approvingly at me ; I was very nearly 
 congratulated over the black silk and, Page I saw 
 a blue one in Cardoza's window, it looked like yards 
 of heaven unrolled, and I just stood there dreaming
 
 228 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 of buying it for you! Turn your face this way, let 
 me look at you! Oh! my God, how glad I am to 
 see you ! " 
 
 A tear had sprung to Dave's eye but it quickly van- 
 ished and he continued to talk to her as though words 
 were the overflow of his soul. 
 
 " So this is where you live! " he said, looking about 
 him. " How I have tried to picture you day and 
 night, always trying to place you where I could see 
 you! But I never dreamed of you in such magnifi- 
 cent surroundings! I suppose this is magnificence! 
 I note the marble fireplace, the statue over there, those 
 very large pictures and, Page, I never saw so many 
 draperies in all my life! It's insolent splendor! " 
 He laughed. " How do you stand it ? I should 
 think a room like this would wilt a flower in a night 
 and I would give it just one year to wilt the freshest, 
 sweetest woman that ever rejoiced in Virginia sun- 
 shine. But now speak to me ! You are here we 
 can't help that, so tell me everything about yourself, 
 the people you have met everything you do ! How 
 is the book coming on ? " 
 
 "Famously!" 
 
 " Congratulations ! " Dave clapped his hands. 
 " And when you are not writing, what do you do with 
 yourself?" His eyes strayed about. "Don't you 
 find it very lonesome here? It seems so terribly dull 
 and ponderous I feel exactly as though you and I 
 had met in a tomb." 
 
 "Oh! You never see the people in here," Page 
 answered a bit grandly. " They are always on the 
 go, this is merely the reception room." 
 
 " I see," answered Dave. 
 
 " People here," laughed Page, " just rush around
 
 THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR 229 
 
 and tear about! There is a Mrs. Wilton here; we 
 have gotten quite intimate. She is introducing me 
 to her friends and I expect to go out with her a good 
 deal ! " 
 
 " Who is Mrs. Wilton ? " asked Dave, a sudden 
 sharp ring in his voice. 
 
 Page again flushed. 
 
 " Why, I don't know, Dave ; people never know who 
 anybody is here I just met her at the table." 
 
 " And do you mean to tell me," asked Dave, " that 
 you are becoming intimate and intend to go about 
 with a woman of whom you know absolutely noth- 
 
 ing 
 
 "Everybody does here!" 
 
 " But you are not everybody, Page ! " 
 
 A ray of sunlight that parted the heavy curtain at 
 the windows and crept in had been stealing towards 
 them. It reached Dave's face and paused there and 
 suddenly lit it up and fixed her attention. She had 
 half-forgotten the wonderful, strange beauty of that 
 patrician face the brown, velvet skin, the dark, 
 smoldering eyes with the fire of a race-horse in them 
 and the light of a Dante; she had half -forgotten the 
 lofty, intellectual brow with the soft raven hair fall- 
 ing on it, the high delicate nose, the fine chiseled lips, 
 the white even teeth, the iron-like lower jaw, the 
 thoroughbred cast of all, and for a moment it came 
 as a surprise, and nearly took her breath away. 
 
 " Dave! " she whispered, drawing closer to him. 
 
 "Well, Page?" 
 
 " Nothing only you seem so different from 
 every one here " 
 
 " I hope so," Dave laughed, still bent on being gay. 
 " You're in Yankee-land you know ! I have brought
 
 230 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 you a little gift," he added suddenly, his voice chang- 
 ing, " will you look at it? " 
 
 His hand went to his pocket. 
 
 "A gift?" Page exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes, something I heard you say, once, you wanted 
 more than anything in the world ! " 
 
 "What is it, Dave?" 
 
 " Can't you guess ? Something you said you 
 wanted to hang on a little chain and wear on your 
 breast, day and night, night and day, and be buried 
 with! Do you remember?" 
 
 " You mean " 
 
 Dave was opening a little package. He took from 
 it a box which he extended to her. " Open it your- 
 self," he said. 
 
 The box contained a locket ; it hung on a little gold 
 chain and inside the locket was a picture of her father, 
 the head and shoulders of a soldier in his uniform 
 with tiny stars on the collar. 
 
 Page was speechless with her eyes fixed upon the 
 picture. Finally Diave bent over and looked with her. 
 " I thought you would like it," he said. " Shall I fas- 
 ten it on your neck? There, now," he bent over and 
 kissed the back of her neck when he clasped it, " keep 
 it there!" 
 
 Through tear-wet eyes, and looking up at him she 
 said gently and reverently, " I will always keep it 
 there, Dave!" 
 
 " And," said Dave, wiping the tears from her eyes 
 with his finger and smiling into them, " love the giver ! 
 Can people kiss in this splendid room, Page ? " 
 
 He was so bent on being gay that it was impossible 
 to resist him. 
 
 " Only very formally," she answered, smiling.
 
 THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR 231 
 
 And even his kiss lacked seriousness like the opening 
 bars of a waltz that have not caught the rhythm. 
 
 " Go now and get your hat," he said, " we're going 
 out and I want you to show me the sights ! I can only 
 remain one day. I am busy with cases of all kinds, 
 also preparing for Fielding's trial, so we must crowd 
 everything into one day. Can't we go to a matinee? 
 I saw by the paper Hamlet is being played ! "
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE SOUTHERN ONLOOKER 
 
 THE day passed in a round of sight-seeing, Dave 
 keeping up an almost madly merry mood, amused at 
 this, cynical about something else, and finally horror- 
 struck at Page suggesting their going to a spectacular 
 play that was being discussed in the boarding house. 
 He carried his point that they sit side by side through 
 Shakespeare's master-piece. 
 
 " That ephemeral thing, Page," he had said, " a lot 
 of senseless gibberish and scenes to catch the jaded 
 eye! Why, I've been wanting to see Hamlet all my 
 life it's been my dream ! " 
 
 And Page never forgot Dave through that per- 
 formance. Alert, alive, living in the realization of a 
 lifelong anticipation, keen about the finest point, 
 breathless as a boy during the murder scene, and yet 
 never forgetting her taking her into his every emo- 
 tion as a part of it. 
 
 At the close they walked down Broadway, but to 
 her surprise she could not enthuse him nor arouse in 
 him any special interest in the passing show. 
 
 When she commented on this, awakening from a 
 momentary trance, he replied : " I was not seeing it, 
 Page, I was thinking of you. I have been watching 
 you to-day and it has rather staggered me that such 
 ordinary scenic effects inspire excitement in you. 
 You are an impressionist. If you are to realize 
 your intention of becoming a novelist you must begin 
 
 232
 
 THE SOUTHERN ONLOOKER 233 
 
 to cultivate the power of analysis. You are too much 
 overpowered by masses, crowds, noises, splendid 
 sights, forgetting that of themselves they are nothing 
 but symbols. To find you influenced by this appraisal 
 of the tangible expressions of false luxury in a world 
 where souls and bodies are bartered for gold; where 
 everything is disguised; where the profligate and the 
 senile, so long as they conform to convention, are 
 considered only on the basis of their visible posses- 
 sions; where every deformity, moral, spiritual and 
 physical, may be condoned if there be money enough 
 to distract one, is a shock to me. I grant all the ad- 
 vantages of a great city; I couldn't have witnessed 
 that play, presented as it was to-day, and not admit 
 it. I see, perhaps even as you do not, all the wonder- 
 ful achievements of man to produce a great city like 
 this! I am more impressed by it than you are, but 
 I am not blinded by it. It is no place for those like 
 you and me, who have been reared in a finer at- 
 mosphere. There is no real life here for you or me! 
 But it's a grand and glorious place for us to come to, 
 Page, once a year, twice a year, three times, if there 
 is something going on worth while. But it should be 
 taken in as a pleasure, just as we have always taken 
 in the state fair and seen the abnormally large cows 
 and pigs and the horse racing. But life! These 
 people here forget half the time that they are living 
 and that life is a thing to be respected and valued. 
 What shall we do now? " he broke off. " Isn't there 
 some quiet place we can go where I can sit with you, 
 look into your eyes, hold your hand, and realize my 
 joy in being with you! But not that parlor," he 
 laughed. " All the time I was there I felt like a crim- 
 inal!"
 
 234 
 
 The street scenes about them were very gay at this 
 hour. People were hurrying by in vehicles and on 
 foot. Already there were lights in many of the shops 
 and buildings and a man was lighting up the street. 
 
 Well-dressed men swung by leaving the odor of 
 whisky and mixed drinks on the air, and many of the 
 women's eager, restless, anxious eyes shone out like 
 false lights to lead them astray. 
 
 Dave breathed in the odor of the men's breaths and 
 glanced into the eyes of the women. Then he 
 stopped on a corner and Page saw that his face had 
 grown grim. 
 
 " Page, I swore not to ask you this! I swore to 
 come here to make it a day of happiness for you, and 
 if I succeeded in that, to ask nothing more! But 
 when are you coming home? My darling, when are 
 you coming home? " 
 
 He started forth again, and the twilight having 
 deepened, he took her hand within his arm. Page 
 winced a little at this; it seemed old-fashioned to her 
 and even in big New York she might come face to 
 face with someone who knew her. 
 
 She glanced critically at Dave, noting in some sur- 
 prise the lifted head and self-satisfied manner of the 
 man in slight astonishment. 
 
 Dave was not fashionable. The suit he wore, a 
 dark brown one, was familiar to her, and had been 
 for a long time; his collar, not especially well laun- 
 dered, the work of some old colored woman, was not 
 of the style worn by the gentlemen at the boarding 
 house, or those to whom Mrs. Wilton had introduced 
 her; his cuffs were not the latest and the old link cuff- 
 buttons his grandfather had worn were in them. 
 This costume, together with the watch fob that Dave
 
 THE SOUTHERN ONLOOKER 235 
 
 wore it had a red seal in it and had also belonged 
 to his grandfather made Dave the image of some 
 old portraits that hung on the walls of the Capitol 
 or in Colonial homes. 
 
 Page hesitated, with a feeling of self-reproach, 
 about introducing Dave to Mrs. Nesbit's table, and 
 thought for an instant of suggesting as a place to be 
 quiet, and alone, some restaurant for dinner. The 
 thought was drowned in a burning flush. Dave was 
 her visitor. How would it be possible not to have 
 him as her guest, or explain away such a breach of 
 etiquette ? 
 
 So a little later these two young Virginians found 
 themselves mounting the stone steps of Mrs. Nesbit's 
 boarding house.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 SENTENCED TO CHAINS 
 
 PAGE introduced Dave to the boarders assembled 
 for dinner and there was the momentary silence al- 
 ways attendant upon the arrival of a stranger which 
 soon passed. 
 
 For a moment, Dave, whose idea, as Page's had 
 been, was that a boarding house was a kind of refuge 
 for the despairing, felt himself slightly disconcerted. 
 He was surprised also, just as Page had been on her 
 arrival, at the display, the number of people, and the 
 elaborate costumes they wore. 
 
 As usual there were men and women in evening 
 dress and the effect, he had to admit, was rather daz- 
 zling. It was easy to understand how this false show 
 might take a hold on Page and a new feeling of anx- 
 iety concerning her filled his heart. To the super- 
 ficial view there was sufficient here, in these ostensibly 
 gay people, and their surroundings, to turn any im- 
 pressionable girl's head. 
 
 The Colonel entered and Page introduced him. 
 
 " Delighted to meet you, Mr. Lee," exclaimed the 
 Colonel, putting out his hand cordially. " Miss Page 
 has often spoken of you. She tells me that you are 
 the son of an old friend of mine. I knew your father 
 well, we were both on Jackson's staff a brave sol- 
 dier, sir, and a gallant gentleman! You don't look 
 like him," he added, scanning Dave's face with keen 
 
 interest. 
 
 236
 
 SENTENCED TO CHAINS 237 
 
 " No, Colonel," answered Dave, rising, " I am, they 
 tell me, the image of my mother." 
 
 " But you have his voice," said the Colonel, half 
 sadly. " Glad to have met you, sir." 
 
 The dinner passed pleasantly, Dave under the in- 
 fluence of novelty and the happiness of being by 
 Page's side, showed off to her great satisfaction. 
 
 When they entered the parlor afterwards he looked 
 at his watch in surprise. 
 
 " Can it be possible," he exclaimed, " that it is nine 
 o'clock ! How the day has passed and yet it has con- 
 tained for me so much years might have passed 
 since this morning! To think that I have been with 
 you a whole day, and that we have witnessed Hamlet, 
 sitting side by side, and that I have dined with you! " 
 
 The day had indeed been an event in Dave's life, 
 and the dinner hour, during which he had easily cap- 
 tured and held the attention of the dining-room, had 
 excited him a little. Dave did not know that Mr. 
 Dalton had smiled at his boyish enthusiasm and utter 
 naturalness, or that he had with a quick glance under- 
 stood him as representative of a type that had only 
 to be egged on to become voluble and oratorical. 
 
 As they took their seats on the sofa, in spite of the 
 flying of time, Dave felt very happy. 
 
 The light, so brilliant before the dinner hour, had 
 been economically lowered, and as in the morning 
 they had the room to themselves. 
 
 For a short while there was a straggling procession 
 of people on the stairs all making for the street. 
 Young men who ran down lightly, over-fed middle- 
 aged couples, descending leisurely, and young women 
 tastefully costumed, who left the delicate odor of 
 sachets and extracts on the air. Then the house set-
 
 238 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 tied down to perfect stillness broken only by the dis- 
 tant rattle of the washing of dishes. 
 
 " Dave ! " Page exclaimed presently, " I was very 
 proud of you to-night ! You were so brilliant ! " 
 
 Dave laughed. 
 
 " Did you think so? I was interested. That Mr. 
 Dalton interested me; he is the first self-made man I 
 ever talked to ! " 
 
 " Is he a self-made man, Dave ? " 
 
 " Certainly. Have you not observed the coarse 
 hands, the stumpy fingers, the workman's neck and 
 shoulders? Why, the fellow is only learning how to 
 handle his knife and fork, and certainly he has not 
 learned how to address a lady. And yet he was a 
 revelation to me. He was given a brain, and with 
 that alone he is where he is, a man of affairs, and one 
 of the heads of a great newspaper ! " 
 
 Dave was talking as though to himself, one of those 
 momentary lapses into self that Page was familiar 
 with. 
 
 " He allows himself," he went on, now addressing 
 himself to her, " no freedom in his daily life he is 
 a machine. I would like to see the fellow live a few 
 days. Ah! Page, how I pity these people here, 
 housed up like beasts, each man in his cage and fed 
 three times a day by a keeper. At least I have never 
 been without a home, and if I haven't owned slaves, 
 I've owned a horse and a dog." He bent tenderly to- 
 wards her. " And to think of you here a part of 
 this caravansary, and of your own choice! Better 
 our old dances, Page, in the clean sweet barn, with 
 the smell of stacked-up corn in our nostrils and the 
 stars shining through the rotting shingles, than this 
 false show. And to think that I must leave you here !
 
 SENTENCED TO CHAINS 239 
 
 If only you knew what it costs me; if only you knew 
 how you make me suffer." 
 
 As of old, the tones of his voice penetrated her 
 nerve centers. 
 
 " I know ! I know ! " she whispered, and nestled 
 against him. 
 
 In the silence that followed there came over her a 
 sudden comprehension of what this young Virginian 
 was. She felt all that he stood for. She knew that 
 a lie could no more pass his lips than that the stars 
 could emit a poisoned flame; she knew that between 
 him and dishonor death always stood. She had been 
 proud of Dave at dinner, and there came over her a 
 dim realization that he was but a spark of the old 
 regime not yet expired, but that would expire in the 
 new order of things, and he became doubly dear and 
 of tremendous importance on that account. Her 
 mind grew excited about him. She saw him like a 
 soldier who has not heard of the battle lost, still hold- 
 ing aloft a tattered flag. 
 
 He seemed to feel her thoughts, and slipped his 
 arm about her and drew her to him. 
 
 " Why do you persist in this sojourn here that keeps 
 you away from my arms? " he cried under his breath. 
 " Am I not worth anything to you ? Isn't this mo- 
 ment worth anything to you? Isn't my love worth 
 anything aren't my kisses more than 
 
 She freed herself from him half-petulantly, in self- 
 defense. 
 
 " Yes, yes, Dave, but," he could feel the shrinking 
 of her form, " but don't ask me to go back ! " 
 
 "Oh! Page, why?" 
 
 " I don't know I can't explain it's the book, 
 I suppose, that first anyway. One must be properly
 
 2 4 o THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 situated properly isolated to write ! I have been 
 hearing so much recently about the requirements of a 
 writer. One must sacrifice everything and everybody 
 to art. An artist must place himself where he can 
 be himself to the fullest ! " 
 
 Dave smiled. " Do you think any one here, Page, 
 is himself ? You can be yourself at home not here. 
 All the really beautiful and appealing things are there. 
 What appeals to you here are but accessories to jaded 
 appetites and passions, no more real than the painted 
 scenes on a gilded curtain, only, something God 
 knows what has blinded your eyes. What better 
 environment, Page, than the universal, God-given en- 
 vironment nature herself! Have you forgotten 
 our azure heavens with their blazing golden stars? 
 Have you forgotten our wheat fields waving like si- 
 lent green seas? Have you forgotten the corn stand- 
 ing erect, tossing its ribbons to the breeze, the fruit 
 trees with their faint smelling, lovely tinted blossoms, 
 our stately magnolia lifting ivory cups to catch the 
 perfume of heaven itself? Have you forgotten these 
 things, and the flowers that bloom everywhere so 
 riotously, gorgeously, and persistently, even when the 
 snow lies on the ground, still blooming! Is not all 
 that environment ? And for the soul ! Look with me 
 down the old streets of Richmond ! Can't you almost 
 see banners waving? Look at the words on them! 
 Truth! Honor! Sentiment! Bravery! Courage! 
 You want environment! Is there not environment 
 in all that? Is it not enchantment to the pure in 
 heart, the pure in mind your heart, your mind! 
 Crown it all with my love! Know that I will take 
 sweet, sweet care of you! Have faith that with you 
 by my side, all that you want from a material stand-
 
 SENTENCED TO CHAINS 241 
 
 point will be yours, for it would be so I am capable 
 of all things for your sake! " 
 
 " Dave," she whispered, " you cannot change the 
 conditions there that weighed me down ! " 
 
 " I do not want to ! want to glorify them for 
 you ! Love can do that ! " 
 
 She freed herself from his embrace. " No, it 
 would not ! " she cried under her breath. " I would 
 always feel myself a slave to the opinions of others, 
 always tied held down, never daring to express an 
 idea that had not been expressed a thousand times 
 before that had not the sanction of usage and of 
 time. Oh! How I tried to keep step, Dave, keep 
 time, you never will know how I tried, but I couldn't. 
 If I wanted to sing it must not be louder than my 
 neighbor; if I wanted to dance it must be the same 
 step of all the others no quicker, no slower ! And 
 I was yearning to do things not as others did them! 
 Freedom, freedom, my heart cried! Free to live my 
 life as no one had ever exactly lived a life before! 
 You don't know how hard it was to run away, with 
 you and everyone I loved, holding me back! I do 
 love you! I knew it that night at Fielding's! I 
 knew it this morning when I saw your card and my 
 heart leaped out of my body! I knew it to-night 
 when my pride in you was like a burning flame, but 
 it is that very love that I have sworn not to let stand 
 between me and myself! I will not let that love 
 drown me! I won't go back, Dave! You your 
 love -my love, can't drag me back where every 
 breath I draw is the breath of repression, where even 
 the countenances of the young become outlines of 
 duty; where the women hide pale, sorrowing faces 
 under crepe veils; where life is respectful deference
 
 242 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 to custom and to sorrow! I see those banners, Dave, 
 yes, and I see the arms too weary to wave them! I 
 see our people slaves to all the sacrifices the words on 
 those banners entail! I held them up till my arms 
 faltered till I got too tired! I won't go back! 
 It's slavery, Dave! I won't be a slave! " 
 
 Dave laughed an unexpected triumphant laugh and 
 then bent over and put his face close to hers and she 
 saw the triumph also shining in his eyes. 
 
 " You will always be a slave," he breathed, " al- 
 ways, always! " 
 
 She laughed back. " Will I? To what? " 
 
 He got up, and standing erect in front of her, 
 folded his arms on his breast and looked down upon 
 her. The same look of triumph smiled in his eyes 
 that were also compassionate. " To what ? Vir- 
 ginia ! " 
 
 His voice cut the air like the sudden sound of a 
 bird-call at midnight. 
 
 She made no reply, sitting with cat-like, shining 
 eyes fixed upon him. 
 
 " All Virginians are slaves," Dave went on, his 
 voice now low and hushed. " I am a slave, every 
 man and woman born on her soil is a slave ! " He 
 bent over her, holding her gaze. " You are her 
 slave! New York can't free you; the remotest cor- 
 ner of the earth can't free you nothing can! You 
 may desert her, jeer at her, laugh in her face, deny 
 her, and her power will be a whip upon your back 
 that will make you cry out for mercy her tender- 
 ness will enfold you until you cry out for relief 
 her sorrows will weigh upon you until you cry out 
 for breath to endure them ! Her bloodshed the 
 blood of those who died for you will flow before your
 
 SENTENCED TO CHAINS 243 
 
 eyes and you will hide them in the hollows of your 
 hands ! Her romantic past, her chivalry, her patience, 
 her struggle for life, her heroism, her defeat, her 
 splendid dignity in defeat, all will hold you bound 
 hand and foot forever! 
 
 ' You may be scorned by her for what you do to 
 her, made an outcast by her, ignored as a thing un- 
 clean; forgotten as a thing unworthy, and you will 
 crawl back and kiss the dust of her earth, her slave 
 
 always her slave ! I must go now ! Stand up, re- 
 bellious little slave, lift your eyes, put your hands in 
 mine! " 
 
 She put forth her hands, he took them and drew 
 her to her feet and smiled. 
 
 ' You are indeed a slave, with master and mistress 
 
 Virginia is your mistress, Page, and I am your 
 master ! " 
 
 His eyes emitted a flash that was like lightning. 
 She started and cowered a little under it. Another 
 low laugh escaped him. 
 
 There was no sweetness in the kiss he pressed to 
 her lips, only a sharp pain, but it took the strength 
 out of her, and as he passed out of the door she 
 dropped down on the sofa and buried her face in her 
 hands, something like hatred in her heart, but her 
 hand clutching the locket convulsively.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 A SILENT PROTECTOR 
 
 WHEN Dave reached the stoop he encountered the 
 Colonel smoking a cigar. 
 
 " You are not leaving, Mr. Lee ! " 
 
 " Yes, Colonel, I must be in Richmond by to-mor- 
 row morning." 
 
 " I wish you were staying longer. I wish," and 
 the Colonel smiled mischievously, " you were taking 
 Miss Page back with you. The fact is, to tell you 
 the truth, I don't like to see our girls migrating North. 
 The first time I saw Miss Page at the table, caught a 
 glimpse of her intense, half -astonished countenance, 
 I wanted to tell her to pack up her trunk and go back. 
 Pardon this but why did her relatives let her come 
 here alone, Mr. Lee?" 
 
 " Her parents are dead, Colonel ; the voices of 
 friends and relatives fell on deaf ears." 
 
 "Yours?" smiled the Colonel. 
 
 " Yes, even mine I was powerless as the rest." 
 
 " It was a great mistake a great mistake," echoed 
 the Colonel. " It's a mistake for any Southern-bred 
 girl to come to New York." 
 
 " I agree with you, Colonel," said Dave emphat- 
 ically. 
 
 " They come up here," the Colonel continued, " to 
 write, to teach, to go on the stage, anything serves as 
 an excuse, and too often, I have seen many instances 
 in Mrs. Nesbit's boarding house, since I have resided 
 
 244
 
 A SILENT PROTECTOR 245 
 
 here, the great city swallows them up. Your little 
 friend is of a different caliber, a superior and intelli- 
 gent girl ; all the same, Mr. Lee, New York is no place 
 for any unprotected girl ! " 
 
 " Colonel," Dave exclaimed, " I know it only too 
 well ! I feel that I can speak to you as though I 
 had known you all my life you are a Virginian 
 and you knew my father that is enough. I wish 
 I could have a long talk with you, I wish I could beg 
 that favor of you, but I have not a moment to spare 
 or I might miss my train ! Colonel ! " 
 
 "Well, my son?" 
 
 " It's a comfort to know that she is under the same 
 roof with you; I anticipate no trouble befalling her 
 I hope she will soon be home, but at any time, if 
 for any reason, you feel I should be by her side, will 
 you let me know if need be by telegraph?" 
 
 " I will," said the Colonel calmly. 
 
 Dave was getting out a card which he extended and 
 the Colonel took. " Keep an eye on her, sir, will 
 you?" he half pleaded. 
 
 " I will," said the Colonel, in the same calm voice. 
 
 " Good-by, Colonel." He put out his hand and the 
 Colonel took it in a warm grasp. 
 
 "Good-by, Mr. Lee." 
 
 And Dave was off like a shot, and down the street 
 in a run.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE COLONEL 
 
 ON the evening of the day that her book was com- 
 pleted, Page entered the dining-room flushed, elated, 
 and triumphant. She even felt bold and had made 
 up her mind if Mr. Dal ton was in the mood to be 
 silent, confining himself to his gluten bread and vari- 
 ous other strange edibles that he indulged in, she her- 
 self would open the attack. 
 
 The Colonel gave the opportunity by inquiring how 
 she had spent the day. 
 
 " In finishing my book, Colonel ! " she exclaimed, 
 and then cast a pair of flashing, defiant eyes at Dalton. 
 
 " I am sorry for you," that gentleman remarked, as 
 he returned her glance. 
 
 "Why?" Page flashed. 
 
 " Because now your troubles begin. I would like 
 to advise that since you have accomplished your task 
 you had better return to Virginia." 
 
 " And may I inquire why? " Page demanded. 
 
 " To save yourself trouble," Dalton returned 
 phlegmatically, and confined himself to pouring his 
 pint of milk into a high glass. 
 
 " Mr. Dalton," the Colonel exclaimed, looking up 
 from his paper, " while I agree with you that Miss 
 Warwick should be in Virginia, it is perfectly nat- 
 ural that along with many others she should prefer to 
 remain here." 
 
 "Why, sir?" asked Dalton. 
 346
 
 THE COLONEL 247 
 
 " Because it is natural for humanity to sacrifice the 
 beautiful and uplifting to fly to the market-place where 
 there is a better opportunity for material advance- 
 ment. Miss Warwick," he added, " however, may be 
 here with philanthropic ideas as well. It may be her 
 intention by her presence to give you the benefit of 
 social culture." 
 
 All eyes turned quickly upon Mr. Dalton at this. 
 
 " Your colored friends are straggling up here, too, 
 Colonel. Do you suppose they have such a purpose 
 in view? " 
 
 " They might have, sir. The butler in my father's 
 home could teach many a Yankee good manners ! " 
 
 " "We should be greatly indebted, Colonel, and to 
 the young ladies too ! " 
 
 " Our Southern girls are the flowers of the land, 
 Mr. Dalton : you must be very careful how you speak 
 to them ! " 
 
 "Thank you, Colonel!" Page cried out nervously. 
 
 Mr. Dalton, who was transferring his especial cut 
 of rare beef from its dish to his plate, replied with- 
 out lifting his eyes. 
 
 " I am not a botanist, Colonel, and know little about 
 flowers, but if your simile is intended to convey the 
 idea of beauty, of frailty, of fickleness, of proud 
 strength in sunshine and ignoble weakness in the 
 shade, perhaps it is so. I conceive the flower of the 
 land, though, to be a perennial that neither frost nor 
 heat can blight, and also that possesses a beauty that 
 is derived from its hardiness. Your flower wilts too 
 soon and its perfume, while intoxicating, is poison- 
 ous." 
 
 "Come, come, now, Mr. Dalton," exclaimed the 
 Colonel.
 
 " No, Colonel Beverly," Page called, " let him go 
 on ! Let us hear all he has to say ! We can stand it ; 
 only he must be just." 
 
 " I will be," said Mr. Dalton, laying down his 
 knife and fork, " and exact. I will translate what I 
 mean into direct English. The Southern women of 
 New York to-day, while appearing all you would 
 have me believe them to be, are in reality the an- 
 titheses of what you describe. Their naturalness and 
 apparent childishness are masks that cover a subtlety, 
 a selfishness, an abandonment, and a duplicity that to 
 a cold Vermonter like myself, reared amidst solid 
 rocks and uncompromising sturdiness, is astonishing. 
 Their very presence here among people they hate and 
 despise is an acknowledgment of what I say. The 
 fact is, as you yourself admitted, they are here to 
 prey upon us. Their beauty and their fascinations 
 are used to entrap, and they glory in doing it, giving 
 themselves up to the task with all the passion of their 
 fervent nature. Family honor, even the family name 
 they glory in, is used to advance their cause. They 
 crave excitement, flattery, incense, adoration, decora- 
 tion, and for these things they stop at nothing. I 
 must add that their powers of dissimulation are so 
 remarkable that, as a rule, we see in them the most 
 innocent persons in the world ! " 
 
 The entire dining-room had become breathless. 
 The Colonel rose in his seat but sat down again. 
 Page leaned forward, pale, with a horrified expression. 
 Mrs. Nesbit appeared and took her stand in the door- 
 way. Instinctively all eyes turned upon Page. 
 
 " Mr. Dalton," said the Colonel, rising and taking 
 a military stand, " what you have said is to my mind 
 the most potent argument that I have ever heard in
 
 THE COLONEL 249 
 
 condemnation of the wrong done the South by the 
 war. The restraint of our Southern social conditions 
 kept our women pure and sweet and dependent. 
 Transplanted into this alien soil they absorb its poisons 
 and become the victims of every vile contagion. 
 Southern men protect their women! Alas! These 
 to whom you have referred, who, because their pro- 
 tectors were slain, have wandered from the fold, are 
 truly lambs among wolves. You are correct. With- 
 out her protector the Southern woman is a pitiable 
 spectacle! And where are their protectors, Mr. Dai- 
 ton? Ask of the little tombstones that mark the 
 soldiers' graves throughout the sunny South ! " 
 
 " I am not responsible for that, Colonel," returned 
 Mr. Dalton. 
 
 " You may not be, nor for the unhappy creatures 
 you have described our Southern women in New 
 York to be. But let me tell you this, Mr. Dalton, 
 the true woman responds to the masculine demand 
 made upon her. Does he want her an angel she 
 is one. Does he want her a devil she is one. 
 What is the demand made upon our women when 
 they come among you? I leave the answer to 
 you," 
 
 " The Colonel has been drinking," whispered Miss 
 Jenkins to Page. But Page, whose startled, glowing 
 eyes were fixed on Mr. Dalton, scarcely heard her. 
 
 "I leave it to you, Colonel," Mr. Dalton replied. 
 " When a woman uses her charms and magnetism to 
 call into play the carnal appetites of man, what is he 
 to do?" 
 
 " Protect her, sir ! " roared the Colonel. 
 
 Mr. Dalton said " Bah ! " But the majority were 
 clapping hands for the Colonel. Many rose at this
 
 250 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 turn and left, so that the dining-room looked thinned 
 out. 
 
 Page felt giddy a moment. The Colonel swayed 
 a little, and she recognized that Miss Jenkins was 
 right. This alarmed her, for there had come into the 
 Colonel's face a look that she was familiar with in 
 the man countenance of Virginia, and it meant danger. 
 
 " Our Southern women, Mr. Dalton," he exclaimed, 
 " are sensitive, and therefore influenced by environ- 
 ment. The angels of Heaven, whose robes are the 
 whitest and whose wings are daintiest, whose hearts 
 and minds are the most alert, are the first whom a 
 visit to Hell would smirch and make appear by con- 
 trast the most hideous. The brightest inhabitants of 
 Purgatory, who have already been singed, being of 
 coarser fiber, in the furnace of existence, never go to 
 abandoned lengths. They have neither the natural- 
 ness nor the happy unconstraint of the others, and 
 having clipped and singed wings, fly not far, not be- 
 cause they would not like to but because they cannot. 
 Sudden changes of environment may bring out latent 
 instincts that for generations have lain dormant. 
 Throw the petted darlings of fortune upon a cold, 
 bleak world where beauty, charm, loveliness, and 
 grace no longer have that indefinable value given by 
 the home, at the fireside, over the cradle, and what 
 are the weapons with which this creature can battle 
 with the world? When our proud stricken ones find 
 themselves of necessity in a heartless, unsympathetic 
 world, the primal instinct comes to the front. If she 
 cannot conquer by force she conquers by fraud. In 
 conclusion, Mr. Dalton, I want to say that what you 
 have said of the Southern women in New York may 
 be true; I don't deny it; I certainly don't admit it;
 
 THE COLONEL 251 
 
 but true or not true, Miss Warwick was no more 
 mentally prepared to hear it than the negro was men- 
 tally prepared for freedom when he got it, and if 
 you don't apologize, sir, you're an abominable scoun- 
 drel, sir, and you'll answer to me! " 
 
 "I do at once, Colonel," laughed Dalton, showing 
 a set of white teeth that Page somehow stood in awe 
 of. " Miss Warwick, will you accept my most hum- 
 ble apology? " 
 
 Page's reply was a burst of tears and ignominious 
 flight from the dining-room. 
 
 When she reached her room she became hysterical, 
 and all that she could say between her sobs was : " The 
 Colonel ! The dear Colonel ! "
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 FAILURE 
 
 AT the end of three months, Page's book had been 
 returned by five publishers. 
 
 This, together with the life of excitement she had 
 been leading, was wearing upon her. 
 
 She began to live in dread of the return of her 
 manuscript. Each time it took her strength. The 
 fifth time it arrived was during the breakfast hour. 
 
 The expressman came to the basement door. Her 
 name was called out so that all present, including Mr. 
 Dalton, heard it. Instinctively she glanced at him 
 but he did not look up. Her hope that it was a 
 package from home, whereby she might escape hu- 
 miliation, died when the stentorian voice of the ex- 
 pressman called out the name of the publisher from 
 whom it came. 
 
 The waitress entered with the package and a large 
 book for her to sign her name in. 
 
 She did this with a trembling hand and scarcely 
 able to see the line indicated by the coarse red finger 
 of the girl. The whole dining-room seemed to cen- 
 ter its attention upon the operation. When it was 
 over and the girl had disappeared with the book she 
 got up from the table and staggered as she walked to 
 the door. 
 
 Weighed down by the package, that felt as heavy 
 as a trunk, she climbed the steps slowly, holding with 
 one hand by the banister. 
 
 252
 
 FAILURE 253 
 
 When she reached her room she entered, closed the 
 door, and stood in the center of it dazed. 
 
 Presently she walked over and laid the package 
 down on her trunk. If she opened it and saw that 
 polite printed slip she feared she would faint. 
 
 She took her seat and began to marvel at herself. 
 Why had she ever thought of writing a book? It 
 seemed to her now a monstrous and absurd under- 
 taking. A laugh nearly escaped her lips, but she 
 checked it. 
 
 Then her mind centered upon Dalton and she won- 
 dered if she could ever go in the dining-room again 
 and face him, and all those others who had either 
 witnessed or knew of her humiliation. A shiver 
 passed over her and with another vivid impression of 
 Dalton's face, the nausea returned, accompanied by a 
 feeling of suffocation that caused her to tug at the 
 collar of her dress. 
 
 Her eyes were staring painfully and she tried to 
 look about her naturally, but failed. Everything 
 seemed strange to her. 
 
 Suddenly intense hatred of Dalton diverted her; 
 hatred of his appearance, his moods, his manner of 
 speech, his peculiarities, the especial dishes that were 
 prepared for him and that he criticised. 
 
 He assumed the form of a monster, created to 
 tyrannize over Mrs. Nesbit and make her feel small 
 and insignificant a thing to be treated lightly, 
 laughed or sneered at and held up to ridicule. She 
 felt that she would like to strike him a blow with her 
 fist squarely in the face. But simultaneously with 
 the thought came another that struck terror to her 
 heart. 
 
 Might not this man help her?
 
 254 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 Other thoughts followed this, filling her with ex- 
 citement. 
 
 Her money was giving out! How she had spent 
 money! She had not, in counting on the success of 
 the book, realized it until now. 
 
 How many clothes she had bought ! And that coat 
 that Mrs. Wilton had persuaded her to buy because 
 it was cheap. She had given seventy-five dollars for 
 that coat! How did she ever come to do such a 
 thing? God knew. 
 
 Now that she came to think of it she had been going 
 about rather constantly with Mrs. Wilton, and some- 
 how, while Mrs. Wilton seemed to spend the money, 
 it was always she who paid the bills for the lunches, 
 the cabs and matinee tickets. How her money had 
 dwindled! Her eyes fell on the little account book 
 lying on her bureau, but shifted again quickly. She 
 would not dare to open it. 
 
 How had she gotten so intimate with Mrs. Wilton? 
 Perhaps it was because Mrs. Wilton was always prom- 
 ising to introduce her to publishers and people who 
 could help her in her literary efforts. But these in- 
 fluential people never materialized, and the people, men 
 and women, whom she met through Mrs. Wilton, were 
 self-interested and indifferent to literature. 
 
 As Page thought of some of the men and the tenor 
 of their conversations she blushed and tears blinded 
 her. She brushed the tears aside, however, and tried 
 to follow Mrs. Wilton's advice not to be silly. Mrs. 
 Wilton had said everything went in this world, and 
 if you wanted to really live you should ignore what- 
 ever offended and just have a good time. 
 
 She had ans\vered Mrs. Wilton that day. 
 
 Were good times, she had asked a bit wildly, the
 
 FAILURE 255 
 
 whole of life here? Didn't hearts ever have any 
 play? Didn't people want to be with you because it 
 was you if there were no good times? Did they al- 
 ways shut you off when the tendrils of your heart 
 reached out for a little sympathy and tenderness? 
 
 And Mrs. Wilton had laughed at her. 
 
 Good times! Page turned from the idea now in 
 terror. Good times ! She wanted to work work ! 
 
 She sprang to her feet but immediately a feeling 
 of desperation overcame her. 
 
 Work? For what? Why? 
 
 She pointed dramatically to the returned manu- 
 script and burst into tears.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 HALLUCINATIONS 
 
 SOME rather reckless weeks followed for Page, dur- 
 ing which she tore about generally at the heels of 
 Mrs. Wilton. 
 
 It was a strange world in which she found herself 
 at times the central figure a world of light and mu- 
 sic, song, movement, rush and money. 
 
 She saw enough money flying about on trays dur- 
 ing one evening in a crowded restaurant to relieve 
 the immediate sufferings of nearly all the people she 
 knew at home, and the people who spent this money 
 were as indifferent to the expenditure as were her 
 people at home about the gold-colored leaves that fell 
 in the fall in showers from the trees. 
 
 Life was entirely heartless and on the surface and 
 no one seemed to have time to stop long enough to 
 dig beneath it. Sometimes she felt that if they didn't 
 stop rushing they would fall together in a heap and 
 it seemed to Page that would be a relief. 
 
 There were moments when she hated Mrs. Wilton, 
 but in the very instant some new pleasure would come 
 up that she couldn't resist. 
 
 At times fighting these battles was wearisome and 
 fatiguing and she longed intensely for a little rest to 
 adjust herself. But it never came and she would 
 often find herself, as it were, out of breath like a per- 
 son on an inclined plane who can't stop himself. 
 There seemed to be innumerable currents of wind 
 
 256
 
 HALLUCINATIONS 257 
 
 blowing her this way and that. If she turned from 
 one she was struck in the face by another and she 
 lived like a being in fear of being blown over a preci- 
 pice. 
 
 She told Mrs. Wilton this but Mrs. Wilton only 
 laughed and told her not to worry, adding that, if 
 she did fall over she would find people on the rocks 
 below to welcome her. 
 
 Page never actually felt herself a part of the 
 spectacle in which she figured, nor was she. She was 
 like a delicate white moth fluttering about it. A 
 thought came to her that if she remained in it she 
 might find herself one morning lying in the midst of 
 it all, wingless and singed, as she had often seen the 
 beautiful moths of the night before about an extin- 
 guished lamp. 
 
 These thoughts would produce vague shudders that 
 she would attempt to belittle by careless gestures of 
 her hands or her shoulders. She experienced so 
 many conflicting emotions that at times she feared she 
 might be going mad. 
 
 To cap the climax Mrs. Wilton borrowed fifty dol- 
 lars of her and as usual her check failed to arrive. 
 
 This fifty dollars had made a terrible gap in the 
 small amount she had left. 
 
 Page stood in the center of her room one morning 
 bathed in a cold sweat. If her money gave out what 
 then? Where would she go? What would become 
 of her? A sudden thought relieved her for a mo- 
 ment. There was suicide! Yes, there was always 
 suicide for one to turn to. The thought inspired her. 
 She could always turn to it. But always it took her 
 strength. If only there was someone to talk to - 
 someone to sympathize. Someone to whom she could
 
 258 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 explain. But there was no one. Not one person 
 appeared to have time for anything certainly not 
 to listen to her. 
 
 The Colonel, yes! Page grasped at this idea for a 
 few moments feverishly. But the idea died as she 
 contemplated it. There were two obstacles. Two- 
 thirds of the time the Colonel was in no condition to 
 be appealed to seriously, and then her pride! And, 
 besides, what could the Colonel do? Nothing! 
 
 Dalton! Always there was Dalton standing like 
 the sphinx in the desert. She could appeal to him 
 and he might help her ; tell her what to do ; how to go 
 about it to get her book published. But by no flight 
 of imagination could she conceive of Dalton as in any 
 sense sympathetic. She shrank from the idea of go- 
 ing to him, and, as it were, crying out for help to him, 
 as from a whip-lash. She almost felt that Dalton car- 
 ried a concealed whip. 
 
 Dave! Another shudder would pass over her. 
 Dave, yes, of course! But that also meant surren- 
 der defeat crying out ! Better Dalton ! Better 
 still, she would say this aloud suicide ! These 
 thoughts were having their effects bewildering ef- 
 fects that she was conscious of. Yet, she could not 
 arouse herself sufficiently to change them. She had 
 become a part of New York and New York life and 
 sometimes, to her surprise, the strange existence would 
 intoxicate her so that she would walk the streets tri- 
 umphantly as though she had attained something. 
 Again, if she found herself with an evening on her 
 hands, she would feel that all the lights of the city 
 had been extinguished, leaving her in total darkness. 
 
 While so many things happened, what surprised 
 Page was that nothing continued. Just as the serv-
 
 HALLUCINATIONS 259 
 
 ants at the hotel disappeared, people in the boarding 
 house disappeared. Always she was going about with 
 new people and always she was being greeted at table 
 by strangers, while persons who had been a part of 
 the daily life of the house for weeks, were scarcely 
 referred to again. 
 
 Sometimes she would wonder what became of the 
 old people in New York. It was very sweet to be an 
 old lady in Virginia, because there were quiet porches 
 to sit on in summer, with flowers blooming every- 
 where in sight; or bright fires to sit before, in a com- 
 fortable old rocking chair, in winter. And always 
 the young people came to tell their experiences, or 
 bring things to show, and the children were deferen- 
 tial. And Page almost wished that she were an old 
 lady so that she could be back there taking life quietly 
 and beautifully. The old ladies here made no dis- 
 tinction between themselves and their juniors: they 
 painted and powdered, and wore fashionable clothes 
 and plumes and flow r ers. 
 
 One day she complained at table of the artificiality 
 of things, how she could find nothing restful, only 
 excitement and turmoil, and she was advised to walk 
 in the park. 
 
 The day being an exceptionally warm and bright 
 one, she took a car and went there. But in spite of 
 the numerous leafless trees that had always appealed 
 to her passionately, and all the shapely shrubs and 
 winding paths, rocks, and natural beauty, she found 
 little difference. It seemed to her that nature existed 
 under protest, and she could almost fancy that the 
 trees were chained to the spot underneath the earth 
 and were standing there against their wills, unhappy 
 and full of yearning for the woods and forests. She
 
 260 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 sat a long while looking on, and observed that the 
 wealthy rode rapidly through the park, as though es- 
 caping from it, and that in reality it was a retreat for 
 the ignorant, the illiterate, and the despairing. Such 
 faces as she looked into! When she left she seemed 
 to be departing from a refuge of lost souls. 
 
 She hurried home with a feeling that happiness had 
 flown from the world. Here was a people who ap- 
 parently never looked upward for the smile of God. 
 And she had become one of these people, a being in- 
 capable of abstract ideal contemplation, who fever- 
 ishly awaited each hour for what it might bring to 
 lead her away from self. 
 
 She was no longer able to write and passed the 
 days as best she could. The amount of money that 
 sped under Mrs. Wilton's hypnotic influence caused 
 her of late to avoid her as often as possible. But this 
 did not stem her restlessness or activity. 
 
 Sometimes she would slip into restaurants alone, 
 order coffee, and sit and study the people and the 
 scenes going on. The bold faces of the women, the 
 striking costumes they wore; the sensual and gross 
 or unhealthy countenances of the men, and the grace- 
 ful movements of the shrewd and not always polite 
 waiters, repelled but fascinated. She liked the odors 
 of the dishes, the smell of the wines, and aroma of 
 the coffee and chocolate. The popping of champagne 
 corks excited her and she listened for one it was 
 full of suggestions, some of which she feared. There 
 were times when sitting in such places alone, she be- 
 came oblivious to her surroundings and would fancy 
 herself an onlooker in hell, where in a few moments 
 her feet would begin to burn. She would draw them 
 under her, pay her bill, and walk hurriedly out, look-
 
 HALLUCINATIONS 261 
 
 ing straight ahead of her but distinctly feeling the 
 glances directed upon her. 
 
 When she entered her room one night it was un- 
 familiar and she felt an absolute stranger to herself 
 as though she were someone else. 
 
 She avoided her mirror, undressed in silence and 
 got into bed. 
 
 She discovered presently that her heart was beating 
 abnormally, and all of a sudden there was something 
 terrifying to her that this living, palpitating thing 
 stretched out there in the dark was herself. What 
 was she? Who made her? Was she planned or was 
 she an accident? What was the world? She re- 
 membered some diamonds she had examined the pre- 
 vious day standing before a shop window. They now 
 mystified her. All those flashing things, she thought, 
 buried under the earth, and the stars buried in the 
 sky. Who buried them? Why were they buried 
 there those beautiful things? Many thousands of 
 them were never seen they just remained there. 
 The brain of the Almighty astounded her. She put 
 her brain beside God's brain and trembled like a leaf 
 in the wind. Did anything, she asked herself, really 
 exist or was she merely conceiving all these things 
 the diamonds under the earth the stars above the 
 earth herself and God Himself! She touched her 
 flesh; first with one hand and then the other; her 
 limbs, and again assured herself of the beating of her 
 heart. It had grown quieter. Who made it grow 
 quieter? W r ho kept it going on? How could God 
 remember to keep all the hearts beating as a clock- 
 maker keeps his clocks going? Were there invisible 
 attendants of hearts just as there were visible at- 
 tendants of clocks? She sat up and peered about her,
 
 262 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 looking for the attendant, and was terribly perplexed. 
 She knew that she could get up if she wanted to and 
 move about and that alarmed her. To be a live thing 
 that could get up and crawl about under the bed if she 
 liked sit in the corners with eyes flashing in the 
 gloom. Also she could laugh aloud if she wanted to. 
 She did laugh aloud, once, twice, three times. Then 
 she thought that being dead was better than sitting 
 there laughing aloud. But dead! What was being 
 dead? Who made you dead? And what for? 
 Where was she? How did she get where she was? 
 What directed her steps to this particular place? 
 Something must have done so. The most trifling cir- 
 cumstance assumed gigantic proportions and became 
 of importance. 
 
 All the while things outside were becoming more 
 unreal than those inside, and again she questioned the 
 reality of anything except herself. She said sud- 
 denly that anything she willed to see she could see, 
 and began to will to see things. 
 
 First she commanded a thousand funeral proces- 
 sions to pass before her. " Let there be children," 
 she cried out, " young girls, old men and old women, 
 all being carried to their graves," and in an instant 
 it was so. And then she said, " Open up a ball- 
 room as broad as the ocean, dress all the people in 
 flowers and make them dance." And that was so. 
 And then she said, " Let the dancers vanish and the 
 ball-room floor become the ocean and let there be a 
 terrific storm with waves as high as this house." 
 And that was so. And then she said, " Bring all the 
 vessels of the waters, large and small together, and 
 sink them before my eyes. Let the people scream and 
 float and drown and the billows cover them, and let
 
 HALLUCINATIONS 263 
 
 the heavens catch fire and burn and roar with mon- 
 strous, mighty sound, and let burning angels drop 
 into the roaring ocean." And that was so. 
 
 But what she could not will was the cooling of her 
 burning flesh. She almost felt that she was on fire, 
 and a violent pain was attacking her head and her 
 eyes.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE PLEA 
 
 PAGE'S illness lasted three weeks. 
 
 At the end of that time a pale, feeble convalescent, 
 she descended one morning to the dining-room. 
 
 It appeared to her that Dalton looked kindly at her 
 and this brought a gush of tears to her eyes. 
 
 When he left the dining-room she followed him 
 and as he put his foot on the step leading up from 
 the basement hall she caught him nervously by the 
 sleeve. 
 
 " Mr. Dalton," she asked, "may I speak to you? " 
 
 Dalton turned abruptly and faced her. 
 
 " Certainly. You've been ill, haven't you, Miss 
 Warwick?" 
 
 " Yes, I have been quite so, Mr. Dalton." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 His voice was so cold and sharp it cut her like a 
 knife; also, he took out his watch. 
 
 " I shouldn't detain you, Mr. Dalton. I know you 
 are in a hurry but I thought I wondered if 
 you would not I wondered if you might not advise 
 me about my book. It's come back, you know, from 
 all the publishers and " 
 
 " I am in a hurry now," Dalton interrupted, " but 
 I will talk to you, yes! Suppose you come to my 
 office." He got out a card and handed it to her. 
 " Say at two o'clock this afternoon. Will that suit 
 you?" 
 
 264
 
 THE PLEA 265 
 
 "Thank you, yes! Any hour would suit me! 
 Thank you very much ! " 
 
 She reached her room, weak and faint but quite 
 elated. 
 
 The ordeal hadn't been so bad after all! Her 
 trouble had been in trying to put herself on a level, 
 mentally, with Mr. Dalton. She laughed at this. Mr. 
 Dalton, the head of a great newspaper, and she a 
 woman nothing but a silly, inexperienced Southern 
 girl. No wonder he had smiled derisively at her ef- 
 forts! A woman needed help and the counsel of a 
 man a big, strong man like Dalton.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE HELPING HAND 
 
 THE great office building was disconcerting to 
 Page, so that, as she was borne slowly upwards in the 
 elevator, she experienced similar feelings to those she 
 had on her arrival in New York. 
 
 Her heart beat abnormally ; she failed to hear the 
 boy call her floor ; accepted his rebuke as a bewildered 
 horse accepts the whip, and wandered through the 
 large hall in a half hypnotic condition looking for 
 Dalton's office. 
 
 The amount of red tape she was subjected to be- 
 fore she was finally admitted to his private room, did 
 not serve to lessen her embarrassment. 
 
 When the door was opened to her she passed 
 through it with the feelings of an actress suffering 
 from acute stage fright. To add to this, Dalton, 
 seated at a large roller-top desk bending over some 
 papers, was so entirely different from the Mr. Dalton 
 whose seat was opposite hers at the table, that he 
 might have been an entire stranger. 
 
 For a full moment, while Page stood beside his 
 desk, a little at his back, he did not look up, and when 
 he did, giving his revolving chair a sudden turn, she 
 started. 
 
 " Ah ! Miss Warwick," he said, indicating a chair, 
 and adding in somewhat curt tones, " won't you be 
 seated?" 
 
 " Just a moment," he concluded when she had done 
 266
 
 THE HELPING HAND 267 
 
 so, and turned to the papers he had been examining. 
 This gave Page time to consider her embarrassment 
 anew and become reduced finally to an almost helpless 
 figurehead. 
 
 " And now," said Dalton, suddenly looking up and 
 repeating his stereotyped remark, " what can I do 
 for you? " 
 
 It was as though Mr. Dalton had entirely forgotten 
 the appointment and the reason for it, so she recalled 
 it to him. 
 
 ' You remember, you said this morning I might 
 call on you this afternoon in reference to the book." 
 
 ' The book ? Oh, yes. It's been returned to you 
 -hasn't it?" 
 
 Page wondered if Mr. Dalton had forgotten all 
 she had said. 
 
 " Returned! " she burst forth, attempting a laugh, 
 " it's been returned five times! " 
 
 "Five?" 
 
 " Yes, and I am beginning to lose faith that's 
 why I've taken the liberty to trouble you about it. I 
 thought if someone with influence " 
 
 Dalton waved this with his hand. " Influence, 
 Miss Warwick," he said, " hasn't any weight whatso- 
 ever with publishers. It's the story. For instance 
 you speak of me as a man of influence. I suppose I 
 am, in a certain sense, and yet if I were to write a 
 poor book there isn't a publisher in New York who 
 would handle it that is, I mean, because I wrote it." 
 
 " I suppose, then, you think my case is hopeless? " 
 Page inquired. 
 
 " You have not secured a publisher for your book," 
 Dalton returned carelessly. 
 
 " No, I haven't ! Mr. Dalton, do you think I
 
 268 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 should give up give the whole thing up? I'm al- 
 most tempted to burn the manuscript," her face 
 flushed, " in Mrs. Nesbit's kitchen stove ! " 
 
 "Oh! I wouldn't do that!" 
 
 " Well, what should I do ? That's what I've come 
 to ask you! To tell you the truth, Mr. Dalton, I am 
 in a great deal of trouble. You will pardon me for 
 mentioning this, but I came to New York against the 
 advice of all my relatives and friends, on a small sum 
 of money that I sold a little house for, and " Page 
 did manufacture the laugh this time, " it's about giv- 
 ing out." 
 
 "Hadn't you better return home," asked Dalton 
 sharply, " before it does ? " 
 
 " And acknowledge my defeat to everybody ? I 
 just couldn't." She wrung her hands. " I believe 
 it would kill me! I think I would rather die first! " 
 
 " I have no doubt," said Dalton in a composed 
 voice, " it would all soon be forgotten." 
 
 " I suppose it would. Don't fancy I imagine my- 
 self of so much importance that it would be remem- 
 bered! But 7 am the one who would remember! I 
 would never be able to hold up my head again at home. 
 It's pride Virginia pride ! " 
 
 Dalton smiled. But it seemed to Page that he 
 melted a bit, and she felt more at ease. 
 
 " It's Virginia pride," she repeated hotly, " and 
 Virginia pride is a very difficult thing to battle with ! " 
 
 " Very well then, we will admit that. And now 
 let us see how we can get you out of the battle. The 
 Colonel showed me those little short stories of yours 
 that he said had also been returned to you. He asked 
 me to read them, in fact, and give him my opinion. 
 I did so."
 
 THE HELPING HAND 269 
 
 ^ "Well?" Page asked a little breathlessly as she 
 fixed in his a pair of eager eyes. 
 
 " I should say you have some talent, Miss War- 
 wick, but it needs developing. Talent is a plant that 
 has to grow and grow under proper conditions." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " I don't think, if you will pardon me for saying 
 so, that you are under the proper conditions for your 
 literary development." 
 
 "No?" 
 
 " I am at Mrs. Nesbit's boarding house because I 
 got tired of hotels and hotel fare. I have a suite 
 of rooms there, my private bath, I order what I want 
 and she has it cooked for me. In other words she 
 serves my purpose as a good housekeeper. Now 
 with you it's different." 
 
 " I should say so," interjected Page, " shut up 
 there in that little sky-light room." 
 
 "Oh! The sky-light room is all right it's the 
 environment the environment that I, for instance, 
 am entirely on the outside of, above if you like, and 
 that you are, partly your own fault, right in the midst 
 of. If I were you and wanted to become an author 
 I would first of all cut away from Mrs. Nesbit's 
 boarding house and all the people there Mrs. Wil- 
 ton, for instance." 
 
 If Mr. Dalton had suddenly fired off a cannon she 
 could not have been more surprised. 
 
 He saw her amazed look and continued : " Such as- 
 sociations only distract you from your purpose. 
 You've been rushing about a good deal with Mrs. 
 Wilton of late, haven't you? " 
 
 "Oh! I have I'm ashamed of it! I haven't 
 written a line in weeks, but, you see, I got so dis-
 
 270 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 couraged. I believe," finished Page, making a 
 plunge, " I've been actually reckless ! " 
 
 " I believe you have." 
 
 After this remark silence fell between them, and 
 to Page it was a very painful silence for, while numer- 
 ous sentences framed themselves, they all seemed in- 
 adequate and not one would come forth. 
 
 An office boy entering and announcing a caller 
 made her feel that she must hurry. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Dalton," she said, "what would you 
 advise me to do? " 
 
 Dalton handed her a copy of the New York Herald. 
 
 " I have marked a number of advertisements here 
 of small furnished apartments. I would take a cab, 
 get over the ground as quickly as possible, select one 
 and move into it that is, if you are sincere, if you 
 are positive that you are in earnest about devoting 
 yourself to becoming an author." 
 
 " I am in earnest ! " Page cried. 
 
 " Very well, Miss Warwick, you have asked my 
 advice and I have given it." 
 
 " Mr. Dalton " Page began. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Aren't these apartments rather expensive ? You 
 see," the blush burnt again, " my money is giving 
 out and " 
 
 " As I told you," Dalton interrupted, " I have dis- 
 covered some talent in your work. I believe under 
 the proper conditions that talent may be made profit- 
 able. I have a little of the gambler in me, Miss War- 
 wick," Dalton vouchsafed a smile, " in spite of my 
 puritanical bringing up, and provided you work un- 
 der my advice and guidance, I'll back your venture. 
 If your money gives out before you have received
 
 THE HELPING HAND 271 
 
 payment for publications, I'll see that you are not in 
 the street." 
 
 Page sprang to her feet. 
 
 " Mr. Dalton," she exclaimed in an almost wild 
 cry, " you think that well of my work, you really 
 think it would be safe for you to risk something on 
 my effort? That seems so wonderful, I can't believe 
 it!" 
 
 ' You Southerners stand in such awe of a little 
 money invested," said Mr. Dalton, " it amuses one." 
 
 Then he rose and put his hand on his bell. 
 
 " Order a cab for this lady," he said when it was 
 responded to. 
 
 He was holding the Herald and as the boy left he 
 handed it to her. 
 
 " You can just look through this and stop at what- 
 ever seems to appeal to you as you drive along. 
 And " Dalton hesitated, "if I were in your place, 
 Miss Warwick, I would not discuss my plans in the 
 boarding house. I will speak to Mrs. Nesbit for 
 you and as far as the rest, I would not, including the 
 Colonel and Mrs. Wilton, take any one into my confi- 
 dence. You are starting out on a new venture and 
 too many advisers are not beneficial. Good-by. By 
 to-morrow afternoon you ought to be located and you 
 can mail your new address to me here." 
 
 Page was about to speak when he walked past her 
 and opened the door. 
 
 She looked up as she passed through, trying to ex- 
 press to him her gratitude in her glowing eyes, but 
 Dalton was looking over her head at the visitor who 
 awaited him.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE DREAM REALIZED 
 
 "WHERE is Miss Warwick?" asked the Colonel 
 the following evening. " I haven't seen her at table 
 for several meals." 
 
 " Miss Warwick has moved ! " announced Miss Jen- 
 kins in a scream. 
 
 "Moved?" the Colonel exclaimed, amazed. 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "This morning! It was all quite unexpected, and 
 I may add," Miss Jenkins was getting excited, " a bit 
 mysterious ! " 
 
 " Oh ! She told everybody good-by at breakfast," 
 Mrs. Wilton exclaimed carelessly. " She's taken a 
 flat ; she gave me the address she's going to devote 
 herself to work, she said, and the boarding house was 
 not the proper environment." Mrs. Wilton ended by 
 giving the dining-room a supercilious smile. 
 
 " Miss Warwick left good-by for you, Colonel," 
 said Mrs. Nesbit, who had entered, " and this card. 
 She said to tell you she hoped you would come to see 
 her. She was afraid to go to your door to say 
 good-by, she said, for fear she'd break down." 
 
 As the Colonel took the card he cast a furtive 
 glance at Dalton. 
 
 " This is indeed," he declared, ignoring Mrs. Nes- 
 bit's remarks and scanning the card, " a surprise." 
 
 " It almost took my breath away ! " exclaimed Miss 
 Jenkins. 
 
 272
 
 THE DREAM REALIZED 373 
 
 " Oh! She'll be back at the end of a month if she 
 doesn't die of the blues in the meantime ! " Mrs. Wil- 
 ton laughed. 
 
 Mr. Dalton, who had finished his dinner, rose and 
 left the room. The Colonel's eyes followed his back 
 and then returned abstractedly to his plate. 
 
 While this scene in her behalf was being enacted, 
 Page was moving about her little furnished flat, rev- 
 eling in new emotions. 
 
 She had taken her own dinner at a French table 
 d'hote place near by, that Mr. Dalton had recom- 
 mended in a note, where there was music and wine. 
 
 The place had been crowded with gay, careless 
 looking people and Page had taken her place among 
 them, a full-fledged Bohemian. 
 
 She smiled contentedly at how bold and self-con- 
 fident she was becoming. 
 
 And why not? Was she not on the very verge of 
 realizing her long deferred dream! And how nat- 
 urally it had all come about just as though it had 
 been planned. She was like one who had climbed 
 a rugged road, been torn by briars and who suddenly 
 found himself in a beautiful oasis, among blooming 
 flowers. 
 
 The little place belonged to a writer who was travel- 
 ing abroad and if she had furnished it herself it 
 could not possibly have suited her better. It was a 
 perfect little nest Page had exclaimed a dream ! 
 
 Even the books had been left. Between the writ- 
 ing hours how she would read! It was like having 
 a library all her own. And what beautiful books 
 some of them were what rare bindings ! 
 
 Page opened them feverishly and read some of the 
 inscriptions. This Mr. Ernest Noble must be a man
 
 274 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 of cultivation and taste and certainly he had warm, 
 appreciative friends. Page wondered if she would 
 ever have her own place and be thus remembered and 
 recognized. 
 
 Mrs. Wilton had suggested that she might be 
 lonely. Lonely! Could anyone be lonely in heaven! 
 
 She laughed brightly and continued to look at 
 things, lifting curtains, peering in drawers and even 
 under things. The kitchen. What a perfect darling! 
 She wished her old Mammy could come on and be 
 with her. Wouldn't Mammy rejoice when she be- 
 came famous and had everybody talking about her. 
 Page decided the very moment she had money to beg 
 her to come to just beg her! 
 
 The next morning she was even more elated. Re- 
 freshed by a peaceful sleep, she again moved about re- 
 joicing in everything. The hours passed rapidly. 
 
 In the evening when she had arranged the place to 
 her taste she lay down on the couch and fell to think- 
 ing of Dalton. What an injustice, what a great in- 
 justice her cheeks burned at the thought 'She had 
 done this man ! Why, Mr. Dalton had been magnani- 
 mous ! That showed Aunt Constance was right 
 you must never come to conclusions too quickly and 
 never judge by appearance. How often Aunt Con- 
 stance had told her that. 
 
 Aunt Constance! This gave Page a little pang but 
 she immediately settled with her conscience by declar- 
 ing when Mammy came Aunt Constance could come 
 on a visit ! Wouldn't they all have to back water and 
 be proud of her ! She would make them that was 
 her business why she was in the very place ! Al- 
 ready she was a somebody. Hadn't her work been
 
 THE DREAM REALIZED 275 
 
 recognized by a competent critic, and she should 
 say so quite substantially, since it was to be backed 
 on its own merits. 
 
 Yes, she had done Mr. Dal ton an injustice, that 
 would always be her one regret. All she could do 
 was to make up by working hard. 
 
 She would tell him so when he called this evening. 
 He was going to tell her what she must do, how to 
 carry out the whole plan of becoming a writer. She 
 would tell him what an obedient pupil she would be, 
 how she would labor day and night so as not to dis- 
 appoint him. 
 
 Old Major Henry used to say if a man puts his 
 hand in his pocket for you that was real friendship. 
 Mr. Dalton had done that for her that is, he had 
 offered to put his hand in his pocket for her. 
 
 Tears filled her eyes and she lay for a while bathed 
 in contrite yet pleasurable emotions until it was time 
 to start to the restaurant for dinner. 
 
 When she returned she took her seat at the window 
 and sat looking out, feeling herself in a kind of dream. 
 
 A light rain, that she had anticipated from the 
 dampness of the night air and the sudden disappear- 
 ance of the moon as she hurried home, began to fall, 
 and a small tree, beginning to grow tiny leaves, swayed 
 rhythmically. There was a cab opposite. It had 
 been standing there a long while, for she noticed it 
 before she went out. It was a kind of relief to her 
 when two ladies emerged from a house and entering 
 the cab were driven away. 
 
 That seemed to begin the night for her and, rising, 
 she drew down the shades and lit the gas. 
 
 She was about to enter the adjoining room to re-
 
 376 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 arrange her toilet in anticipation of the arrival of Mr. 
 Dalton, when a ring on the little electric bell arrested 
 her. 
 
 Turning with a quick gesture to the door, she 
 opened it and faced David Lee.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 A CLASHING OF WILLS 
 
 IT was not the David Lee that Page had known all 
 her life, but an animal man in whom ten thousand 
 devils had been let loose. 
 
 His face was that of a corpse suddenly sprung out 
 of the grave ; his eyes were on fire ; his nostrils dilated ; 
 his teeth set; his jaw was a piece of iron. 
 
 She trembled and cowered beneath his glance like 
 a frightened hunting dog beneath the uplifted whip. 
 
 He pushed her aside and entered, looking about him 
 as one suddenly bewildered. Suddenly a vivid flush 
 leaped into his face and a vein stood out on his fore- 
 head. He swayed slightly and then stood gazing 
 around like one recovering consciousness. 
 
 Finally his eyes ceased to stray about and became 
 focused on her. 
 
 " Dave ! " she exclaimed under her breath, " don't 
 stare at me that way ! You look terrible don't, I 
 tell you ! " She covered her eyes with one arm. 
 
 He caught her wrist in a fierce grip, bent her arm 
 down, and still stared at her. 
 
 " Don't," she repeated, " don't look at me like that! 
 Why do you stare at me so? " 
 
 " I want to see," he spoke slowly in a labored, 
 strained voice, between partly clenched teeth, "if it 
 really is you." His grip tightened. " It can't be ! " 
 His eyes strayed about and again rested fiercely on her 
 face. " I don't recognize you ! " 
 
 277
 
 278 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 " You do! You know it is I! Don't stare at me 
 that way ! " She was almost screaming. 
 
 " I don't know it is you ! I may have gone mad ! " 
 She winced under the pressure of his fingers. He 
 saw it and released her. 
 
 " What are you doing in this place; tell me? " 
 
 " I came here to write ! " she burst forth. " I will 
 explain everything to you! But how did you know 
 I was here what brought you here to-night?" 
 
 " A telegram from the Colonel brought me ! But 
 what does it matter what brought me? I am here. 
 Answer my question or," his eyes flashed, " I tell you 
 frankly I may not be responsible for what I do ! " 
 
 She laid her hand persuasively on his sleeve. 
 " Dave, you're excited " 
 
 He brushed her hand aside and laughed. 
 
 " Excited ! " He laughed again. " Your word is 
 mild!" 
 
 She attempted levity and joined a nervous laugh 
 with his. " You might be preparing to murder me ! " 
 she exclaimed and tossed her head insolently. 
 
 The gesture infuriated him and the flush receded 
 from his face, leaving it like a dull pallid piece of yel- 
 low marble. It seemed to Page that even the eyes 
 paled till they looked like fading lights. 
 
 " I have asked you a question, Page, answer me ! 
 What are you doing here ? " 
 
 " I have answered you I told you I'm here to 
 write ! " 
 
 " Why in this place ? Why couldn't you write in 
 the place you lived? " 
 
 " It was not suited to a writer not the proper en- 
 vironment ! " 
 
 "Why?" His eyes flashed and a sudden paralyz-
 
 A CLASHING OF WILLS 279 
 
 ing anguish gripped her, as she read accusation in 
 them. 
 
 " I have told you the truth ! " she flung at him. 
 
 " And I suppose you meant to keep this truth a 
 secret live a lie to us all! But the Colonel, God 
 bless him, circumvented that and I am here! I 
 couldn't come, but I am here! I make my 
 speech to-morrow morning in Fielding's behalf 
 to the jury my every thought should be on 
 that ! But when I got that telegram from the Colonel 
 that I might be needed, with a human life at stake 
 I came and it seems I am needed ! " 
 
 He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder, but she freed 
 herself. 
 
 " What do you mean? " she asked. 
 
 " Mean! I mean what have you been doing since 
 you came here ? How long have you been here I 
 forgot to ask that whom have you seen ? " 
 
 " No one ! I came here only yesterday and I have 
 seen no one I have been absolutely alone." 
 
 " Thank God ! " he breathed, and his arms went 
 out to her. " Come away with me at once, now, this 
 instant come Page ! " 
 
 She stepped back haughtily, " You ask me the 
 impossible, Dave!" 
 
 "Why? Why is it impossible? What is there to 
 hold you?" 
 
 "That which brought me here is to hold me! 
 Why should I, at a word from you, sacrifice my en- 
 tire future? Why?" 
 
 " Because you can't stay here not another day, 
 not another hour it's impossible! I will wait for 
 you outside I have a cab there. And, Page, do you 
 understand, darling, you must hurry! I must take
 
 280 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 the nine o'clock train back to-night, must, you know, 
 to save Fielding from the gallows! Only my speech 
 to the jury I have it here," he tapped his breast 
 pocket, " can save him ! You understand, you must 
 hurry I will go now there isn't a moment's time 
 to lose! Hurry!" 
 
 He turned, staggering slightly like a drunken man 
 to the door, but she sprang past him and put herself be- 
 tween it and him. 
 
 " Dave," she exclaimed, " you do not realize what 
 you are saying! Do you mean that you expect me 
 to leave this place that fate has, at last, in answer to 
 my prayers, thrust upon me, at a word from you? 
 Am I to give up this splendid chance to at last settle 
 down to write, this great opportunity to be helped to 
 independence possibly to fame ? " 
 
 He caught her hand and swung her to the center 
 of the room as in a dance. 
 
 " Page," he cried, " it is you who do not under- 
 stand what you are saying! Are you an angel, are 
 you blind, or are you a wicked woman deceiving me? 
 Don't you understand this man? Can't you see that 
 all his promises to help you to become a writer are 
 self-interested? Can't you see that this place is a 
 net in which you have been trapped ? " 
 
 For a moment she stared at him and then burst 
 forth angrily : " You are doing a good man a great 
 injustice, Dave! I know him you don't!" She 
 again stared at him and then approached him timidly, 
 looking curiously into his agonized bloodshot eyes. 
 
 " It's jealousy," she cried. " I believe you are 
 jealous of Mr. Dalton! " 
 
 For one brief instant hatred of her, and her sex, 
 clouded his brain.
 
 A CLASHING OF WILLS 281 
 
 " Jealous ! I am jealous ! Why should I not be 
 jealous! Jealous? You do not know the meaning 
 of the word or how since I entered this place jealousy 
 has burned a hole in my soul. I was jealous every 
 time I thought of you sitting at table opposite that 
 man! Jealous! Why, great God, why not, since I 
 love you! Oh! my Savior, but it is not that! I 
 might be jealous and if it meant my death and was 
 for your good, even the realization of your ambitions 
 at my expense, I could with my own hand lay yours 
 in another man's if that man were offering you an 
 honorable assistance! Jealous! Ah! The madness 
 of my jealousy, but it is not that, it is you your 
 life! You do not know what you are doing! You 
 do not know the danger you are in! Let me tell you 
 that you are standing on the very verge of a preci- 
 pice I heard it and I ran to save you ! Come 
 away ! " 
 
 "No! I will not! I came here with a purpose 
 and I mean to fulfill it! I have my chance and I am 
 not going to give it up. I have started in on the 
 career of an artist and I am not going to forsake it! " 
 
 " It is not your career as an artist that is influencing 
 you," he retorted in a flash, "you are influenced, 
 blinded, hypnotized by this man! If you are an 
 artist you can write anywhere ! You could have writ- 
 ten at home or in your little room at the boarding 
 house! Go back there if you choose! Go back to it! 
 I ask nothing more than that that you leave this 
 place ! That is all ! Will you ? " 
 
 " No ! " Page exclaimed in a low, emphatic voice. 
 " The hour is at hand that I have dreamed of for 
 years! I am not going to sacrifice it give up my 
 dream even for you ! "
 
 282 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 "Do you know why?" He bent down and put 
 his haggard, tortured face close to hers. " Because 
 all your life, your subconscious self has been subject 
 to the beckoning finger of evil ! " 
 
 "Stop!" 
 
 " I won't stop ! That's why you left home and 
 came to New York that's why you are here! Even 
 before you came to New York hadn't you sinned in 
 the sight of God and in my sight? " 
 
 " Dave, how do you dare to speak to me like that? " 
 she asked, her own eyes ablaze. " What do you 
 mean by saying such a thing ! " 
 
 " I say it because it's true ! Because you received 
 and reveled in sinful kisses from my lips sinful be- 
 cause you never loved me ! " 
 
 "That is not true!" 
 
 " Then prove it ! Tell me that I am a liar and 
 that you are good and sweet and pure the angel of 
 my dreams and all my hopes! Prove it! If all that 
 brought you here was to write, go back home and 
 write there! An artist can write anywhere, in an at- 
 tic, in a cellar, in mid-ocean, or on the top of a moun- 
 tain crag ! " He waved his hand. " What has this 
 place to do with the things you intended or intend to 
 write about? What has this to do with Virginia and 
 the sacred, tragic picture you vowed to give the world ? 
 Was this place necessary before you could dip your 
 pen in ink for those pictures already burnt into your 
 brain? Are these little cramped-up rooms necessary 
 to those grand pictures? Are these hangings, these 
 curtains, this couch, a background for them? Tear 
 them down as you did your little house, build a bon- 
 fire of them, and if you are an artist you can write 
 all the same! Everything in this room is a lie!
 
 A CLASHING OF WILLS 283 
 
 This drapery," he cried, leaping to a portiere and tear- 
 ing at it till the fastening gave way, " is a lie ! This 
 vase," he pushed one over, " is a lie! And now that 
 I have told you, unless you return home with me, you 
 yourself are a living lie ! " 
 
 " Dave," she caught at his arm, " have you gone 
 mad?" 
 
 ; ' Yes, I have gone mad, but not for the first time ! 
 Over and over my love for you has driven me mad, 
 but unless you leave this place to-night to-night, 
 do you understand, I will know that you have not 
 been worth it! " 
 
 The striking of the clock caused him to start as 
 from a pistol shot. He nervously took out his watch 
 and looked at it. " I must go," he said under his 
 breath, " I must catch that train if a human life 
 wasn't at stake not even that if Fielding's life 
 wasn't at stake, I would not go! I would stay here, 
 wait for that man to appear and tell him before you 
 what he is and then kill him as Fielding Peyton killed 
 Robert Hughes! But I can't stay I've got to go! 
 Page ! I ask you once more, leave this place with 
 me! Will you?" 
 
 " No ! I won't ! You must give me time ! " 
 
 " Time with the lion growling at your door ! Time ! 
 No ! You must decide now, this instant ! " He 
 caught her by the shoulder. " What is your answer? 
 It is for home and a life of honor or this place and 
 a life of dishonor! No, you cannot protest, it has 
 reached that point ! It is that man or me, for, believe 
 me, if I leave you here to-night, you will never look 
 upon my face again! I mean it and I can't wait- 
 have got to go ! What is it? Yes or no!" 
 
 "Dave!"
 
 284 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 " Answer me ! " 
 
 " How can I ? Is it fair to put me to such a test ? 
 It is my own life I am clinging to, the life that calls 
 me, that always has; the life that made me leave home 
 and friends and relatives the life of freedom and 
 self! I can't go back to those old influences that 
 old repression! It means slavery to me the en- 
 slaving of my soul I can't do it ! Don't you un- 
 derstand? Can't you understand? My answer is 
 no ! I won't go ! I want my freedom ! " 
 
 " Then have it," Dave cried in a loud voice ; " take 
 it, do with it as you like! Do with your brain and 
 body as you will, but let me tell you this: a thousand 
 daggers are lying in wait to plunge into the soul you 
 are giving in exchange! Good-by, Page! You have 
 broken my heart, now break your own ! " 
 
 He turned and fled, not waiting for the elevator but 
 tearing down the steps like a maniac. 
 
 " Catch that train for me," he said breathlessly to 
 the driver, a powerful black negro. 
 
 " Boss," said the man, " you is too late to kotch 
 dat train. I got to drive you to de elevated and put 
 you in dat ! " 
 
 " All right," said Dave helplessly, " do what is best 
 for me and name your price ! " 
 
 " I aint guine overcharge you, Boss ! " said the 
 man, hurrying to his seat. 
 
 " Dat gent'man got blood in his eyes," he said to 
 himself; "I guine git him to dat train." 
 
 And the horses under a sharp lash swept into a gal- 
 lop.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 TEMPTATION 
 
 As the door closed on Dave, Page made one leap 
 to it, threw it open and scanned the deserted hall with 
 startled eyes. Then she closed it and stood perfectly 
 still with her hands clasped in front of her. 
 
 " Dave," she whispered under her breath, then in 
 a louder voice, " Dave ! " 
 
 She again stared at the door. " I've lost him 
 lost his love thrown it away! " 
 
 As her voice died away the silence of the room 
 gripped her. She glanced at the loosened hangings; 
 the fallen vase; the scattered flowers; and her heart 
 leaped. There was something sublime in the fury 
 of this outraged heart that had exploded, as it were, 
 with a great crash and destroyed things. She saw 
 the man darting about the room as the lightning plays 
 in a forest, bent upon destruction striking at ran- 
 dom. For one brief instant he appeared supreme 
 supreme in wrath something to be feared. And 
 then in another instant he was Dave, Dave who had 
 loved her, worshiped her all his life, ignoring that 
 love and self, flying to the friend in trouble. She 
 thought of the speech in his pocket, a scintillating off- 
 spring of his brain, and how with it he would tear 
 down established laws as ruthlessly as he had torn 
 down the things in this room, to free a guilty man 
 and take him from prison safe safe to his home 
 
 285
 
 286 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 and those who, in spite of what he had done, would 
 still love him! 
 
 Her throat swelled with pride as she stood erect 
 with lifted head and triumphed in Dave. 
 
 But the next moment it seemed to her that she was 
 suffocating. " I am dying," she said quietly under 
 her breath, " I believe I am going to die ! Dave ! 
 Do you hear me I believe I'm going to die ! Come 
 back to me everything is getting black before me 
 Dave come back to me I want to tell you " 
 
 There was a light knock on the door and she 
 started, recovering from the faint that was overcom- 
 ing her. 
 
 It was Dalton, she knew that, and placed her hand 
 over her heart that suddenly leaped and beat wildly. 
 
 She was standing thus when the knock was re- 
 peated. 
 
 "Come in!" she called and it seemed to her that 
 her voice was a scream. 
 
 Dalton entered. 
 
 He was in evening clothes, cold, placid, correct. 
 For the first time she actually appreciated the physical 
 charm of the man. Always it had been eclipsed by 
 her deference to his somewhat austere personality. 
 But she saw him distinctly now, an unusual man, from 
 the physical standpoint alone; also a man at his best, 
 clothed to perfection equipped, as it were, to 
 dazzle. 
 
 " Well," he said, advancing leisurely, " how are you 
 getting along?" 
 
 For a full moment she stared at him and then burst 
 forth irrelevantly : " I've had a visitor ! " 
 
 Dalton glanced about him with a smile. " From 
 the appearance of things a rather violent one, I should
 
 TEMPTATION 287 
 
 say. I am very sorry. I did not wish to have you 
 disturbed while adjusting yourself to new conditions 
 an adjustment so important to your future." 
 
 Page gazed upon him surprised by his composure. 
 " It's dreadful," she exclaimed, " I hardly know how 
 to explain I " 
 
 " It is nothing," Dalton remarked carelessly, "ex- 
 cept in so far as it may have upset you. Don't give 
 it a thought," he added. " Let it be an incident in 
 your life which you must put to pen." He smiled 
 again as his eyes fell on the hanging draperies. 
 
 "Who was your visitor?" he asked indifferently, 
 as they seated themselves and a new Mr. Dalton was 
 born to Page a man she might as well have met 
 for the first time. 
 
 " Mr. Lee," she answered, " the gentleman you met 
 at Mrs. Nesbit's!" 
 
 " Yes? " He bent forward and restored a vase to 
 a table. " It must have been a great scene dra- 
 matic. As I said just now, you should utilize it in a 
 book. But for the present, I would advise you to 
 forget it." 
 
 There was a sharp tone of command in his words 
 that caused her heart to leap. 
 
 " Mr. Lee is a very old friend, Mr. Dalton," she 
 protested nervously, " and it isn't so easy to forget 
 what occurred here this evening. To tell you the truth, 
 he doesn't approve of the independent step I have 
 taken," she tried to smile, " in fact he disapproves 
 of it! I'm afraid," she concluded, looking helplessly 
 at him, " that I will have to give up here and return 
 home!" 
 
 "On account of a little opposition, this incident? 
 That is absurd. Get absorbed in your work the first
 
 thing to-morrow morning and by evening you will 
 have forgotten all about it. I've been doing a little 
 editing for you," he took a package up that he had 
 laid on the table, " on these stories." 
 
 A light broke over Page's countenance. 
 
 "Oh! Have you?" she asked. 
 
 " They are not bad. A little rewriting, a little 
 more work, and I think you can dispose of them." 
 
 "Oh! Do you?" 
 
 "I do; why not?" 
 
 " Mr. Dalton, please do not tell me that please 
 do not suggest hope to me. I'm afraid I've got to 
 throw up everything all my hopes and dreams, and 
 go home ! I'm afraid I've got to ! " 
 
 " That is absurd," Dalton repeated irritably. 
 
 " I know it seems absurd," she answered, " but 
 
 Dalton interrupted her. " It is absurd," he said 
 with the same imperative sharpness of tone that had 
 caused her heart to leap. 
 
 " Here now," eyeing her closely, " is the whole 
 situation. In your own behalf you take an independ- 
 ent step always a crime in self -advancement; 
 break away from conditions that handicapped you 
 and enter into others that will further your aims. In 
 other words, you come into, to put it briefly, the proper 
 environment for your own welfare. Now what hap- 
 pens? An old busy-body, probably, sends a telegram; 
 an excitable youngster, because he happens to be in 
 love with you, and for that reason feels entitled to 
 interfere, arrives, sees you under the new conditions, 
 tries to coerce you, hold you to the old and finally 
 you will pardon this in a rather savage fashion at- 
 tempts to demolish what you are seeking to build up. 
 Is that fair?"
 
 TEMPTATION 289 
 
 " It may not be, Mr. Dalton ; I don't suppose it is, 
 but I can't be quite so independent as you feel I 
 should be of the opinion of others." A half nervous 
 laugh escaped her. "I am in fact, I am afraid 
 that I am a good deal of a coward! Since this visit 
 of Mr. Lee, I tell you frankly, my strength to keep 
 on has all forsaken me. I'm afraid I haven't got the 
 courage to well, keep it up ! " Her lips trembled. 
 
 "Keep what up?" Dalton asked, his voice discon- 
 certingly sharp. 
 
 " This ! " She waved her hands. " It seems I 
 would just be flying in the face of everybody at home 
 and disgracing them ! '/ 
 
 Dalton laughed. 
 
 " It really is so! " she added apologetically. 
 
 " You must not think of others, but of your work." 
 His voice was calm now, persuasive even, and again 
 Page wondered if it really was Mr. Dalton. " The 
 artist's life is not an easy one. The ability to live it, 
 however, comes with practice. You must live for 
 others and the world, Miss Warwick, or for yourself 
 and art. You cannot do both. I thought you had 
 decided all that. I thought it was understood when 
 you came to me for advice and agreed to follow my 
 instructions. I am not a man who wastes his time, 
 Miss Warwick, or one to be trifled with." 
 
 He cut her with a sharp glance of his eyes, one 
 that she was familiar with, and the color receded from 
 her flushed cheeks. 
 
 " I understand that, Mr. Dalton, and I am terribly 
 embarrassed and distressed ! " She sprang to her 
 feet. " But I must go home." 
 
 A slight sneer crossed Dalton's lips as he impera- 
 tively motioned her to her seat.
 
 290 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 " When you moved into this place," he said as she 
 obediently took it, " you left your past behind. You 
 may not have realized this, but you did. Your life 
 in Virginia was lived out when you left there. Re- 
 turn and try to take it up again. Try to enter into 
 those old sentiments from which you fled and you 
 would soon wish yourself back." 
 
 He paused, holding her eyes magnetically and then 
 continued : " Never try to put your fingers on your 
 past shun it. The only way to attach value to 
 your past is to let it alone. It is only a delusion that 
 tries to enslave you in order to cheat you out of your 
 present. The past is consolation to but one thing 
 failure! Those who have failed may attempt to live 
 in their past! You have not failed yet; before you, 
 as your only consideration, lies the future ! " 
 
 A dark flush had come into his face and his com- 
 mand of words that had made him a power through 
 his pen, now burst from his lips and began to pour 
 like a deluge in her ears. 
 
 All that she sacredly reverenced was scoffed at. He 
 laughed at Virginia. She was above and beyond 
 Virginia. It was this that made her escape to find 
 herself thus far on the road of her destiny. The time 
 was ripe for her to rejoice in herself and an artist 
 had no right to look back. If she did she was bid- 
 ding good-by to herself. 
 
 Suddenly he rose to his feet and Page had never 
 listened to such words or such convincing arguments 
 as continued to flow in torrents from this suddenly 
 impassioned, but hitherto morose, man. Nor had 
 she ever seen such eyes as his had become! Wicked 
 eyes, cruel, fascinating, compelling. 
 
 " Your past is a dream," she heard him saying
 
 TEMPTATION 291 
 
 finally, " only a dream! Granted that the life here 
 the life of a great city is also a dream the 
 phantasmagoria of the self narcotized >you cannot 
 so easily escape! You would miss it, the great 
 kaleidoscopic dream would haunt you; you would 
 miss it and all the life here! You would miss the 
 noise of the street-cars, the elevated, all the sounds 
 that people hate yet cling to ! They would be in your 
 ears and all the city's blinding lights would shine day 
 and night, night and day, in your eyes! You would 
 think of the theaters, the restaurants, this place 
 in which you now are, and " he paused, " you 
 would think of me! From this distance and under 
 pressure of excitement you think you can return there. 
 I tell you that you cannot! Your past is a beautiful 
 poem to you, beautiful because forever beyond your 
 reach. It has dared to intrude itself to-night like an 
 old song. Try to spend your life listening to old 
 songs and they would fail you! Your future is here 
 in my hands ! " 
 
 As he ceased speaking, his words seemed to have 
 crystallized into golden spheres that swung about her 
 head issuing a drowsy incense. 
 
 She grew dizzy and all of a sudden felt the charm 
 of the life he had described take possession of her. 
 There was a moment of absolute weakness when 
 Dave, home and all the things she held sacred slipped 
 from her. She saw only the present moment and the 
 man before her, his eyes aglow, tempting her to for- 
 sake the old for the new. 
 
 A shudder passed over Page as she recognized that 
 a passionate lover confronted her. 
 
 " Mr. Dalton," she asked timidly, " are you asking 
 me in this sudden manner to be your wife? "
 
 292 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 "My wife!" Dalton exclaimed. "My dear girl, 
 don't you know that I am married ? " 
 
 "Married!" 
 
 For a full moment they gazed into each other's eyes. 
 Then Dalton broke the silence. 
 
 " I am married, yes. I thought you knew it? Ten 
 years ago my wife and I separated harmoniously. 
 She lives in Europe where our children are being 
 educated. But what have these domestic conditions 
 to do with you and me? We have our own lives to 
 live!" 
 
 " Ah ! " Page gasped, as she recoiled from him. 
 
 They stood another moment in silence and then 
 she approached him stealthily and looked up into his 
 face. 
 
 " Mr. Dalton," she breathed, " how have you 
 dared?" 
 
 "Dared what? To offer you my help? My in- 
 terest in your work, and," he bent his face to hers, 
 "my love?" 
 
 " Love! " she exclaimed, springing away from him, 
 " that would be my ruin ! I know now why the Col- 
 onel telegraphed my friend, and I know more far 
 more ! I know now what was meant by the danger of 
 my coming to New York alone! In one brief instant, 
 I have learned what it is for a girl to break the chains 
 that bound her to conventions and attempt to stand 
 alone. And " her voice was a scream, " you 
 tempted me something in you, to-night, tempted 
 me! But the temptation died at its birth, and rather 
 than through an act of mine bring dishonor on myself 
 and on my sacred state and those who love me there, 
 I would cling to the stake and be burned alive ! " 
 
 " You play your part well, girl ! "
 
 TEMPTATION 293 
 
 " Part ! What part ? Do you mean to insinuate 
 that I knew your intention? That I came to this 
 place knowing it with my eyes open? Do you 
 mean to say that ? " 
 
 " Of course you knew ! " 
 
 " My God ! " She reeled and caught at the edge of 
 the table but released it and steadied herself. 
 
 " Of course you knew," Dalton repeated, " but 
 you've broken down you haven't the courage of 
 your convictions. Come, don't be silly. Don't sacri- 
 fice your future to a few old sentiments, the same 
 kind that sent your soldiers heroes you called them 
 into the jaws of death and that would make of 
 you a slave! That kind of a thing is following a 
 mirage it's all a myth. / offer you reality!" 
 
 Aflame, her breast heaving, her eyes, in which all 
 the tenderness was lost, in a blazing fire, she faced 
 him like a savage animal at bay. 
 
 " Mr. Dalton," she cried out, " sentiment may have 
 wrecked us ; there may be no such thing as sentiment ! 
 Love, bravery, courage, even honor, may be myths, 
 but there is one thing in this life that is not a myth, 
 one thing and one alone in which sentiment does not 
 enter; one thing which man or woman, with or with- 
 out sentiment, can have or throw away his or her 
 position in the world! You want to keep yours and 
 rob me of mine ! Slavery ! Is there any such slavery 
 as you offer me, a prisoner with the door of the world 
 shut in my face ! Ostracism ! People I know would 
 pass me on the street and not speak to me; doors 
 would be closed upon me! If one I loved were ill - 
 dying I could not be by the bedside the dying 
 would turn from me ! " 
 
 " You're excited," said Dalton calmly, " but," and
 
 294 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 the wicked light shone in his eyes, " may I add, 
 superb? Good-night. I will see you to-morrow. In 
 the meantime, try to sleep, get your composure 
 and " he paused, " your reason." 
 
 He turned from her, walked leisurely to the door, 
 passed out and closed it behind him. 
 
 For a moment Page stood gazing as in a trance on 
 the closed door. 
 
 Then she started, her form grew tense and her 
 eyes emitted a kind of radiance. 
 
 " Home ! " she breathed, and closed them.
 
 BOOK III
 
 BOOK III 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 VICTORY PROCLAIMED 
 
 THE hours of inaction over, keyed up to the ex- 
 tremest point of exaltation, fired by all her return would 
 mean to Dave, and with the fragile face of her Aunt 
 Constance shining before her, the following morning 
 Page entered the train. 
 
 As it began to move, the dramatic instinct, natural 
 to her, became aroused. 
 
 " Home ! Home ! " she exclaimed under her breath, 
 while her throat closed and she actually saw a thou- 
 sand pairs of hands extended to her in greeting. 
 
 Her recent past seemed to fade away with the first 
 turn of wheels and there rose before her a curtain 
 that was like an old faded tapestry of Virginia. All 
 the family portraits passed before her eyes; all the 
 people whom she had known, some living, some long 
 dead. Suddenly the rose-bush that her grandmother 
 had planted burst into full bloom, and beyond it she 
 saw armies of soldiers, with bayonets flashing, walk- 
 ing straight into the jaws of death for Virginia's 
 honor. 
 
 For a moment it seemed to her that Dalton was 
 standing before her and her entire body burnt as 
 though she was being consumed by shame. 
 
 She freed herself of the vision and as the train, 
 now at full speed, rushed homewards, things long
 
 298 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 forgotten, dramatic impressions of her childhood, be- 
 gan to take shape and hold her attention. 
 
 A story that had gripped her youthful imagination 
 sprang to her mind. It was the story of a young de- 
 serter. The horrors of war, the explosion of can- 
 non and shell, the whizzing of bullets, the dead and 
 dying lying about; the dismembered; the smell of 
 blood ; the sight of blood, had appalled this youth and 
 he had fled from the battleground, in the dark hours 
 of the night, and kept on until he reached a strange 
 city. There for three days he gave himself up to 
 riotous living. On the fourth his conscience awoke, 
 and with the frenzy of a madman he started forth to 
 return to his regiment. On the way he was met by 
 his comrades and shot. Oh! If her fate had been 
 this, to be met on her return by glances of scorn that 
 would be worse than pistols ! She must hurry and be 
 back in her camp, don her uniform, and live and die 
 by her colors. 
 
 Her face betrayed these emotions, her hands were 
 a bit unsteady in performing their duties for the or- 
 dinary comfort of the trip and her eyes shone. 
 
 " Dave ! Dave ! " she cried under her breath and 
 choked down happy tears. 
 
 But one thing stabbed her to her heart. She was 
 returning almost empty-handed. Her money had 
 been spent and on herself! The fire of shame again 
 consumed her as she went over, in self-abnegation, 
 all the tales of poverty and distress that had come to 
 her during her absence in letters or the newspapers. 
 In her narcotized condition they had made little im- 
 pression on her; been accepted simply as old stories 
 she had been hearing all her life; now the true 
 significance of them appalled her.
 
 VICTORY PROCLAIMED 299 
 
 A certain farmer's cattle had all perished during 
 the winter, which had been a severe one, of hunger. 
 
 Awful descriptions were given her of how the poor 
 emaciated things were raised to their feet with the 
 hope that they could stand starving until the grass 
 came up out of the earth. Sheep, from not being 
 nourished, froze; horses, with barely enough food to 
 keep them alive, were kept at work. The thought 
 of these poor, suffering, dumb beasts made her feel 
 that her flesh was being dragged at. Poverty, pov- 
 erty merciful God, and she had spent her substance 
 upon herself! There were other tales that came up. 
 Children had needed shoes, men had needed overcoats, 
 women had to remain indoors wrapped in old shawls 
 for want of underwear. 
 
 As she recalled these things, she saw them the 
 little ragged feet, the men without overcoats, tightly 
 buttoned up, facing the wind. The women shivering 
 for want of underwear. 
 
 Exaggerating her own selfishness a new fear as- 
 sailed her that Dave had ceased to love her! 
 
 With this thought the stoppage of the train at 
 stations made her nervous. She wanted to see Dave 
 quickly, wanted him to know of her return and of 
 all she was prepared to do ! She went over their scene 
 in the flat in actual terror and fancied him turning to 
 Nina as he once swore he would. This idea mad- 
 dened her and she saw Nina as a shining angel and 
 Dave kneeling at her feet. 
 
 She untied the veil about her throat and threw it 
 back to breathe freer. 
 
 Presently as the train sped along through spring 
 visions, the whole plan of woman's life seemed re- 
 vealed to her. It lay in sacrifice surrender of self.
 
 300 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 Her mind flew to a hundred Virginia homes and in 
 every one she saw the plan conformed to. Tired, 
 patient women, unsupported by material comforts, 
 did not complain and beyond the sadness or sorrow 
 there rested, also, in the eyes of these women, the 
 calm, steady light of content. In not one pair could 
 she find the shadow of an awful fear such as she had 
 seen in Mrs. Wilton's on the day when she had cried 
 out about her vanishing youth. And strangest of all 
 in the old and faded eyes the light shone the brightest. 
 She continued to look on all these Virginia homes in 
 a kind of bewildered fascination. 
 
 In each one there was a man standing guard at the 
 portal. Sometimes it was a husband, sometimes a 
 brother, but always a man for the woman to lean 
 upon put her burdens on; a man who even though 
 wearied unto death would never forsake her, always 
 a man ready to go to his death in her protection, or 
 for a breath of slander breathed upon her name. A 
 man to work for her till he dropped, to stand by her 
 side and uphold her even though she had become a 
 thorn in his side. 
 
 The thought stirred her tremendously. These men 
 were heroes. There was something uplifting and 
 poetic in a plan of existence where every home, no 
 matter how lowly, how humble, how poverty-stricken, 
 was a kingdom with a king, who placed his queen upon 
 her throne and saw to it that she was honored; that 
 no harm came to her; no word of disrespect, either 
 from the inmates or the stranger within the gate. 
 Always a man standing between her and these things ; 
 a man who often times grew blind, year by year, in 
 worship, so that when old age came, he still saw his 
 queen as a youthful maiden to whom he paid boyish
 
 VICTORY PROCLAIMED 301 
 
 compliments that brought to the old, peace to the 
 young, hope. 
 
 Page knew that she could not deny these facts; she 
 had lived in them all her life ! In this illumined mo- 
 ment it seemed to her God's plan that could no more 
 be destroyed than the rocks of the mountain or the 
 sands of the ocean. This thought of nature took her, 
 with a bound, to the forest where the wild beasts 
 obeyed the same law. She saw the lioness and her 
 young peaceful and contented in the lair, while the 
 male stood guard ready to give up his life in their 
 protection. Dave was like this lion waiting to stand 
 guard over her and the baby that would lie in her 
 arms. She half lifted her left arm, crooked her el- 
 bow, and looked down with her fine imagination into 
 a miniature face of Dave and a little head covered in 
 silky hair. She felt a choking in the throat and a low 
 nervous laugh escape her and caused a couple op- 
 posite to glance at her. 
 
 Then the train rolled into Washington and some- 
 thing happened that made her pale and leap from her 
 seat with one hand pressed breathlessly to her heart. 
 
 It was the sharp crying of a little army of news- 
 boys a triumphant, shrill yelling, resembling the old 
 rebel shout over a battle won. 
 
 Falling over one another they flocked to the win- 
 dows of the coaches, as the train stopped, and began 
 running through them. 
 
 "Fielding Peyton cleared of murder!" was what 
 she heard through a confused brain. 
 
 " Fielding Peyton free ! David Lee's great speech 
 to the jury ! " 
 
 This message screamed into her ears, this reverber- 
 ating yell, coming upon her mood was a clarion call of
 
 302 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 encouragement and hope inspiration for the fu- 
 ture! 
 
 She went blind a moment, and pressed her palms 
 to her eyes to restore her sight. She remained thus, 
 bewildered, half-conscious, trying to collect herself. 
 
 And all the while the cries of the boys continued to 
 hammer on her ears. 
 
 "David Lee's great speech to the jury!" Over 
 and over these words, now close, now at a distance, 
 as the boys fled through the coaches. 
 
 With trembling hands she found and opened her 
 purse, and handing a boy a dollar, which, to his 
 amazement, he was told to keep, she made her pur- 
 chase of half a dozen papers. 
 
 The train started; the boys were running away 
 from it. She seated herself and opening one of the 
 papers saw the big headlines that had been echoed 
 in her ears, and below them Dave standing erect, head 
 slightly forward, the right arm tensely held aloft, the 
 fingers of his hand scattered. 
 
 She tried to read but her excitement increased, she 
 was trembling violently and could only hold the paper 
 clutched in her hand. 
 
 She stood up a moment ; she wanted to declare her- 
 self tell who she was, and that she was on her way 
 to David Lee!
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 SILENT REMINDERS 
 
 WHEN Page stepped from the brightly lighted par- 
 lor-car it was ten o'clock and the blackness that en- 
 veloped the old station was a momentary surprise. 
 
 With her satchel in hand and trembling slightly 
 from excitement she made her way with rapid steps 
 and shining eyes to a high gate that was being rolled 
 aside. 
 
 The man performing this duty was an old Con- 
 federate soldier. Page wanted to drop down on her 
 knees before this erect, faded figure and receive his 
 blessing. But with a half-smile and swift tender 
 glance into the sad, watery, blue eyes she passed on. 
 
 Another tall, gaunt looking man, with one arm, 
 was in the baggage department, which presented it- 
 self wide-open to her left, and there were a few burly 
 negroes handling trunks. Page heard him speaking 
 kindly to these negroes, who had caused the loss of 
 his arm, and it seemed very beautiful to her. Her 
 eyes also rested in his as she fled past. 
 
 When she reached the waiting-room of the station 
 she noticed an eld dilapidated sewing-machine in the 
 corner, and recalled quickly a stout woman who had 
 care of the ladies' reception room, and who was al- 
 ways allowed to sew between train times. This 
 woman mothered all travelers, and little children and 
 babies often rested to give mothers rest on that 
 great bosom. It sent a thrill through her. She 
 
 303
 
 304 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 paused a moment in the center of the room looking 
 about her. 
 
 A party of people, a man in high top-boots that were 
 smeared with red clay, a farmer with a cadaverous 
 wife, seven children, one a baby in the arms of a 
 little negress of about eleven, were eating from a bas- 
 ket. She saw the old familiar buttermilk biscuits and 
 smelt the ham. On another bench, a party of negroes 
 in grotesque costumes sat very erect; some sleeping, 
 some nodding, some staring. These people were wait- 
 ing for a train that Page remembered was, as a rule, 
 two or three hours late. 
 
 The sight of them made her feel safe and happy. 
 They were as familiar a part of the whole she was 
 returning to, as the frame houses and cabins in which 
 they lived and the old wood piles about them. She 
 could almost see this farmer hauling wood for the 
 winter; the oldest boy cutting it up and the white 
 chips flying. How brave and sweet these simple 
 lives were! She passed quickly through the station 
 to the sidewalk surprised to find how warm it was 
 the difference in temperature the few hours on the 
 train had made. It was already summer heat here 
 and the stars shining so luminously in the dark pur- 
 ple azure were yellow as gold. 
 
 Other familiar sights greeted her. Groups of ne- 
 groes were sitting or lying about the pavements or 
 doorsteps and the old dingy 'buses were lined along 
 the sidewalk in the same manner that she had seen 
 them all her life. The negro drivers, whip in hand, 
 were calling out the names of the hotels they repre- 
 sented with the same old pride. Page heard the re- 
 frain " Exchange and Ballard " that she had always 
 heard croaked by an enormous negro, who had a voice
 
 SILENT REMINDERS 305 
 
 like a frog. His name was Ephram, and in her 
 mind Ephram had always existed. Two men got 
 into Ephram's 'bus Ephram was always the 
 victor and he mounted the box and drove away in 
 triumph. 
 
 All the other 'buses followed empty, the wheels 
 making a terrific noise over the cobblestones. Page 
 listened to this rattle that affected her like a familiar 
 piece of music suddenly performed for her benefit. 
 She felt that everything was for her benefit as she en- 
 tered an old hack and gave the driver her Cousin Ed- 
 mund's address. 
 
 As he was closing the door he peered into her face. 
 
 " Ain't dis Miss Page? " he asked, and Page recog- 
 nized Sam. 
 
 " Why, Sam! " she cried in a husky voice, as she 
 put out her hand. 
 
 " How you do, Miss Page?" 
 
 " I'm well, Sam, and I'm so glad to see you ! How 
 is everybody? " 
 
 " Everybody right hearty, Miss Page ! Mr. David 
 been goin' erhade powerful heah lately, en ter day 
 he done fair sot Richmond crazy he done save Mr. 
 Fieldin'! He done sot him free! Folks say when 
 Mr. Fieldin' heard it, he jess staggered up to Mr. 
 David and fell in his arms callin' out Mother! 
 Mother! Mother! Dey say how he been fearin' 
 powerful how if he got sont up all dem women folks 
 at home mought starve! Mr. David brought him 
 home wid'm and when dey done got through supper 
 he tole me to hitch up de buggy and him en Mr. 
 Fieldin' started off fur home." 
 
 The news of Dave's absence caused a momentary 
 shock, but collecting herself she said eagerly : " Drive
 
 306 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 me to Cousin Edmund's, Sam, and tell your mother 
 I'm home and she must come to see me! " 
 
 " She sure be glad to see you, Miss Page," answered 
 Sam, chuckling as he closed the old hack door with a 
 bang. 
 
 As the ancient vehicle rolled noisily up the street, 
 Page found herself confronted by Dave's absence and 
 like an avenging pain she saw Nina's face with its 
 radiant charm. She swept her arms across her eyes 
 and shut it out, half -wildly calling upon her faith in 
 Dave. Her ecstasy returned and in the cracking of 
 Sam's whip, the noise of the wheels on the cobble- 
 stones, and the jolting of the carriage, came echoes of 
 the past that turned to paeans of joy. 
 
 Peering out she peopled the deserted sidewalks with 
 familiar figures and entered with a bound the dilapi- 
 dated homes, demanding of the inmates welcome. 
 Several times her eyes filled and a light laugh escaped 
 her. 
 
 The languorous heat, the silence, the dim lights 
 burning in the halls, the red ones of the tiny bar- 
 rooms in squalid streets, all affected her dreamily. 
 
 As she passed a tobacco factory the fumes of the 
 molasses-cured tobacco penetrated her nostrils and 
 made her almost cry out with sharp recognition. 
 
 " Home! Home! " she cried and it seemed to her 
 that if this solitary drive did not end quickly, her 
 emotions would bear her away heavenwards, before 
 her loved ones knew of her return. But at this very 
 moment the old carriage finally came to a stop. A 
 little black robed figure seated on the top step of the 
 porch, hearing her voice, sprang down the steps to the 
 hack, and with two little emaciated arms caught her 
 in an embrace that almost crushed her.
 
 SILENT REMINDERS 307 
 
 " Page ! Page ! Darling Cousin Page, at last, at 
 last ! " cried Emily, and their meeting was as of the 
 dead who have suddenly met on brighter shores. 
 
 " Oh ! " said the little voice again as they stumbled 
 up the steps, " how I have needed you." 
 
 " Emily! Emily! " Page cried, dropping her satchel 
 on the porch and facing her, " you have needed me ! 
 Tell me that again ! " 
 
 " I have, I have," exclaimed Emily, " God has an- 
 swered my prayer ! " 
 
 They fell again into one another's arms, and then, 
 the rest of the family having retired, they mounted 
 the steps in silence, to the third floor where Emily's 
 room was dimly lighted by an old lamp that was out 
 of order; the little rocker, in which Page sat, was al- 
 most bottomless, and the pale colorless old three-ply 
 carpet was worn in holes. But as the friar sees his 
 bare cell furnished in splendor, so did she see splendor 
 in these old things. 
 
 Emily's bed, a high teester, reached by ascending a 
 flight of mahogany steps, was like a holy altar beside 
 which, humble and with bowed head she might kneel 
 to say her prayers, while the other things, old unto 
 death, never repaired, or replaced, just falling or stand- 
 ing, were grim but passionate reminders of a sacred 
 past. 
 
 In the center of this old room, another outburst of 
 emotion on the part of the two girls, another embrace 
 and silence fell between them. 
 
 But when the old smoky lamp had been extinguished, 
 however, and they were half -lost in the great bed, 
 they talked a long while in low hushed voices of Page's 
 return and of all the things dear to their hearts. 
 
 Page learned that while Emily's mother was bear-
 
 308 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 ing up under everything bravely, her father was fail- 
 ing in health and no longer capable of leaving the house 
 to attend to business. The boys were at work but she 
 and her mother were thinking of taking boarders. 
 Aunt Constance having grown too feeble to get up 
 in the morning, Emily took her breakfast to her and 
 Page must not go in to see her until she had had her 
 coffee and been prepared by Emily, for the least ex- 
 citement prostrated her. Page must also be prepared 
 for a change in Aunt Constance's appearance. And 
 then after a long silence Emily said in a low voice, 
 " You have heard, Page? " 
 
 "About Fielding? Yes, I got the papers in Wash- 
 ington." 
 
 Emily was silent a while and in a voice tender and 
 full of awe, she called softly, " Page ! " 
 
 "Yes, Emily?" 
 
 " They say that Nina is going to die." 
 
 " Nina ! " Page exclaimed, throwing down the cov- 
 ers violently and sitting up. 
 
 " Yes," Emily answered, also sitting up, " Dr. Mon- 
 cure told mother." 
 
 " Don't, Emily, don't tell me! It can't be! Nina! 
 No! No! I tell you it can't be! She is the most 
 alive thing on earth ! " She burst into hysterical sobs, 
 wrapped her arms about her knees and buried her face 
 in them. 
 
 After a while she looked up and her expression 
 alarmed Emily. " I tell you," she cried, choking her 
 sobs, "it can't be not Nina!" 
 
 " Page," Emily answered, " the Nina you knew is 
 already dead. It was the shock, they say. They all 
 stood it except her and she just went to pieces in a 
 perfectly mad way all in a day. You see," she paused,
 
 SILENT REMINDERS 309 
 
 " she loved Fielding so ! She came to see us about a 
 month ago; she had been staying at Cousin Hennie 
 Eland's and going to the prison daily. I opened the 
 door for her and I didn't know her she was so thin 
 and white, her beautiful eyes were like hollows, she 
 staggered as she walked I had to lead her to a 
 seat." 
 
 " Don't, Emily," whispered Page, " be quiet I 
 can't stand it ! " 
 
 She thought of Nina's face that she had seen while 
 in the hack and again put her arm over her eyes to 
 shut it out. 
 
 " Emily ! " she cried in a hushed voice a moment 
 later. 
 
 " Nina will not die! 7 am going to her! I'm go- 
 ing to nurse her and get her well ! I can I know 
 I can! Thank God I'm home in time! " 
 
 " Can you think, Page," said the small tremulous 
 voice at her side, " what all this has been to me? " 
 
 Page turned suddenly and looked at her, this little 
 figure that was Emily's ghost. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; come into my arms, you poor little 
 thing!" 
 
 As Emily sprang forward and clung to her, Page 
 fell to sobbing again, quietly this time, while trying 
 to pour some comfort into this little creature scarcely 
 more than a child, who was bearing the burden of a 
 great tragedy a tragedy of her times. 
 
 After a while they lay down in silence and Emily, 
 tired with the day's duties, comforted by the return 
 and presence of Page, fell asleep. 
 
 But Page could not sleep. All night she lay awake 
 in the great bed which became finally like a ship bear- 
 ing her along on placid waters.
 
 310 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 At five o'clock she heard an alarm clock; later the 
 quiet opening and closing' of the front door. She 
 stole out of the bed and went to the window. A 
 slight young form, that she dimly recognized as Robert, 
 the youngest son in the family, appeared and then 
 disappeared, half walking, half flying around the cor- 
 ner. On this vanishing form, starting forth at break 
 of day, Page had no doubt the family greatly relied 
 for food. And all through the city this was so while 
 women slept! 
 
 One brief thought of Dalton caused a shudder to 
 pass through her and she hastened back to the side of 
 the bed. There she stood for several moments look- 
 ing upon the wasted features of Emily, framed in a 
 wealth of scintillating hair that alone persisted in pro- 
 claiming her youth. 
 
 " And all the while," she breathed, while the tears 
 choked her, " she was needing me ! " 
 
 Stealing softly into bed she slept.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 INTO THE FOLD 
 
 RECALLING the happenings of the next morning, 
 the exclamations of joy, the glad ring in the voices, 
 the tears and smiles and embraces, it seemed to Page 
 that a religious ceremony had been enacted, through 
 which she, the strayed sheep, was welcomed to the 
 fold. 
 
 Sam had already spread the news of her return and 
 the children had also been sent hither and thither, one 
 of course to Cousin Betty, with messages. 
 
 True to her word, Emily prepared Aunt Constance 
 and not only did she prepare her but she dressed her 
 for the occasion putting a white rose under her cameo 
 breastpin. 
 
 \Yhen Page entered the room and saw her thus, 
 fragile and pure as the rose she wore in her honor, 
 seated in a large armchair, her slender hands ecstatic- 
 ally clasped, her famished, eager eyes lit up in rapture, 
 her whole face shining with celestial light, she ran 
 forward with a cry, and fell on her knees at her feet. 
 
 And when that meeting, which Emily arranged to 
 take place alone, was over and they all crowded in, 
 Cousin Betty embracing Page and scolding her in a 
 breath, Cousin Mary smiling like a madonna, the chil- 
 dren with flowers, culled from their own little patches 
 of earth, in their hands, even Emily with a tinge of 
 color in her pale cheeks, Page felt like almost cry- 
 
 311
 
 312 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 ing aloud, " Joy over the sinner that repenteth," for 
 she felt that that was what she was. 
 
 The day passed like a festival, the life in the house- 
 hold continuing each moment to gladden and soften 
 her contrite heart. 
 
 With what love and reverence the children had 
 kissed their parents before breakfasting; how adored 
 the mother was by the two boys who went out day 
 after day to tasks beyond their strength for her sake. 
 With what suppressed tears she kissed the blackened 
 hands of her brakeman boy; how tenderly she had 
 put his dinner aside for him and when evening came 
 fixed he was the studious one the lamp and book 
 in his corner that he might have a few hours' rest and 
 happiness before going out to his duties. And how 
 she ministered; to the feeble, ailing husband, whose 
 usefulness was over, kneeling at his feet when she 
 took him his food and looking up adoringly into the 
 poor, blank, failing countenance. And Emily, her 
 blighted one! Oh! The embraces between these 
 two the understanding ! 
 
 These people, who were in no way remarkable, 
 grew remarkable : she gazed on them in awe and took 
 their tenderness towards herself humbly. And the 
 next door it was the same and the next, and so on 
 through all the streets it was the same. Love was the 
 keynote; it was the cementation of love that kept the 
 very breath in peoples' bodies. And even the lowliest 
 received some kind of tenderness and not one was 
 deemed as of no importance. The oldest, poorest 
 man, or woman, down to the youngest, poorest child, 
 was loved and cared for by someone. The idiot boy, 
 who lived a few blocks away and struck his mother in 
 the face when she ministered to him, was loved by the
 
 INTO THE FOLD 313 
 
 mother who blamed herself that the stress and anxiety 
 under which she had labored during the war, when 
 she was carrying him, was the cause of his blighted 
 life. This mother wept over this son, who had a 
 strange vacuous laugh, and always struck at her, and 
 she was tender to him. There was no one who was 
 not loved by someone! She could not find one per- 
 son who lived entirely for self or whose life was not 
 a brave struggle, not only for self but for each other. 
 She saw meals being exchanged, trays sent about from 
 one house to the other, and it seemed to her that no 
 one was interested, even in his own food, unless par- 
 taken of by another. 
 
 If only Dave were not away! If only he were here 
 that she could tell him all that was in her heart. Per- 
 haps that would be too much joy, so she must be pa- 
 tient and wait while Dave performed his part for 
 others. 
 
 The thought of Nina alone disturbed her, but even 
 in that thought lay a new-found duty. 
 
 On the afternoon of the second day she felt the de- 
 sire to walk past old familiar places, to see if certain 
 bushes, that she remembered, had flowered; if the 
 trees had the same appearance; if the sun cast the same 
 shadows. 
 
 So she stole out alone. 
 
 It was impossible, however, to avoid encounters and 
 every few blocks a new greeting, from both white 
 and black, awaited her. " Back to God's own coun- 
 try! Knew you couldn't stand it there! " or " 'Fore 
 Gaud, if dar ain't Miss Page!" were glad sentences 
 that rang in her ears, keeping the light in her eyes and 
 the smile on her lips. 
 
 On the outskirts of the city she passed a beautiful
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 old yard, where the children were crowning their 
 queen of May. 
 
 The sky was so blue, the grass and trees were so 
 green that the dome of the world looked like a sus- 
 pended turquoise and its base a glittering emerald. 
 The sun flicking through the trees to the ground was 
 like fallen topazes. 
 
 In the distance a rough throne had been built but 
 the crude work was hidden beneath flowers so that it 
 was a floral throne. Groups of children in gauzy ap- 
 parel, covered in tiny gold and silver paper designs 
 and carrying flowers, looked like little fairies. And 
 nothing that Page had ever seen seemed so beautiful 
 as this simple spectacle. She walked on. How sweet 
 it had all been ! And some of the faces of the mothers 
 as their own children or child appeared! She would 
 never forget them nor how the sun shone. It seemed 
 to pour down through the trees like wine and the fit- 
 ful breeze touched one like light feathers. 
 
 Suddenly as she moved away a message, as though 
 straight from heaven, came to her. To live here in 
 peace she must put aside all thought of self and be- 
 come as one of those little children, each one bearing 
 a flower to make a perfect whole ! 
 
 A kind of passion-drama unrolled and many beauti- 
 ful scenes passed before her eyes as she walked along 
 beneath the pale green trees that fantastically shaded 
 the sidewalks. At last she fancied she saw ahead of 
 her a perpendicular hill up which an army of people, 
 men and women and children, were all climbing. She 
 noticed that many were old and feeble and wore ragged 
 clothing; that some were crippled, and that others 
 were carrying heavy burdens. But no matter how old 
 or feeble or lame, or how heavy the burden, not one
 
 INTO THE FOLD 315 
 
 hesitated to take his place with the rest. She looked 
 up this steep hill, her eyes following this crippled army 
 into a land of glory, and with a suppressed cry herself 
 fell in line. 
 
 She was so happy then that all things took new 
 form and color in her brain. That which had dis- 
 tressed and caused her to flee, now held her captive. 
 
 The wounds and disfigurements of the old soldiers 
 that used to shock her were now the concrete mani- 
 festations of patriotic ardor, heroism, self-denial, 
 magnanimity, patience, saintliness all the virtues 
 that would one day entitle them to the world's 
 apotheosis. The starving cattle of the winter before 
 now seemed to her like a sacrificial offering to God 
 on an altar made sacred by the precious blood of count- 
 less human lives. The coarse clothing worn by the 
 men shone in her eyes the wailings of her people 
 were glad paeans. 
 
 New York with all its wealth, splendor, and magnifi- 
 cence, all its untold power, came up, and with beating 
 heart she pitied New York. It was blind and dumb in 
 all its splendor, a great palpitating soulless monster 
 from which she had escaped. She thanked God with 
 clasped hands and uplifted eyes that she had escaped; 
 that in spite of all she had been through she had re- 
 turned, unscathed, and could still hear the silent 
 voices of things, catch the after-glow the violet 
 tints. 
 
 Suddenly she discovered that she had left the city's 
 limits. This did not deter her and she went on, try- 
 ing, however, to reduce her pace by assuring herself 
 that there was no cause for her to feel excited about 
 anything. But her highly sensitive condition refused 
 to be appeased and her thoughts continued inflamed.
 
 316 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 The brooks she passed flowed over golden pebbles, the 
 hills were monuments of emeralds ! An old home de- 
 serted and in ruins surrounded by a rotting fence 
 blinded her with tears. 
 
 There was scarcely a trace of cultivated land, but 
 the sunlight over all made even barrenness beautiful. 
 She looked about her inquiringly. Somewhere near- 
 by honeysuckle must be already in bloom. How in- 
 tensely sweet it was! Flowers and vines and weeds 
 held high carnival. Joyously demoralized, they flour- 
 ished in rapturous abandonment, wrapping themselves 
 about trees and fences and old benches and discarded 
 cooking utensils, laughing and reveling in their riot- 
 ous disorder. 
 
 The light over the land was the reflection of her 
 own soul, so that the earth seemed rejoicing for her. 
 Everywhere it was bursting to give forth to her eyes 
 beautiful colors, to her nostrils, sweet odors. A 
 mocking-bird broke into song and she stood and lis- 
 tened, allowing the melody to pervade her. Never had 
 she heard so beautiful a sound. 
 
 When silence came she walked on again bathed now 
 in the light of the setting sun. For a moment, in 
 the fierce glare of the Western sky she seemed to see 
 New York again glittering, and Dalton with the sneer 
 on his face beckoning to her. But immediately the 
 scene changed and she saw only what was about her. 
 
 Presently she reached a clump of pines and stepped 
 inside and stood on the carpet of brown pine-tags still 
 watching the setting sun. 
 
 What a chirping of birds there was a regular 
 orchestra. She listened, hoping she would hear 
 another mocking-bird. But none came and the sounds 
 of so many was confused, a kind of twittering, with
 
 INTO THE FOLD 317 
 
 an occasional clear note, and even those sounds were 
 growing fainter some dying away. All the while 
 the sun continued to set in splendid colors. It was 
 like being a little girl again to stand there watching it. 
 
 The night came slowly; the sky changing very 
 gradually from a bright gold to a violet gray that cast 
 a light, monotonous and melancholy, over the bare 
 immovable fields. Beyond one of these fields, to her 
 right, a road ran and Page saw a wagon appear upon 
 it and move slowly along like a shadow. She 
 watched until it disappeared. 
 
 After that it grew dark more quickly so that soon 
 only things very near her were distinguishable. The 
 tops of the pine trees that had been so green were now 
 quite black; the odors had become saturated with 
 dampness and there was not even the twitter of a bird, 
 only a drowsy chanting of the insects that had all 
 awakened to the night. At last a full moon pale and 
 chaste came lazily in sight. It rose slowly above the 
 fields and flooded them with a pallor that was like 
 a fall of snow. 
 
 " How beautiful ! " she murmured in a rapt voice. 
 
 As though to give her answer, a sudden warmth en- 
 veloped her; a hot wind had arrived from somewhere. 
 It was like a passionate embrace and Page responded 
 to it, melting as though in a lover's arms. She be- 
 came charged with a great love for this familiar 
 warmth and for the earth upon which she stood 
 the soil of Virginia. The heat comforted her and the 
 earth began to draw her to its breast until finally, be- 
 neath the pines, with their black plumes spread above 
 her, she lay prone upon it, her arms outstretched, her 
 cheek pressed hard. Never had such a passion con- 
 sumed her, and for a long while she lay thus, breath-
 
 3i8 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 ing her being into the warm, fragrant, responsive soil. 
 At last she rose slowly, feeling herself forgiven for 
 her desertion. 
 
 She walked hurriedly out as though service in some 
 great cathedral were ended. For quite a while she 
 stepped quickly, slightly alarmed at the darkness that 
 now surrounded her, and watching ahead of her for 
 the lights of the city. 
 
 When she had climbed a small hill they came in 
 sight, and walking a little further on she reached a 
 horse-car track. Here she waited what seemed to her 
 an endless time, but at last she was riding along with 
 an old colored man, the only other occupant. 
 
 When she reached home Emily ran out to meet her. 
 "Where have you been?" she asked breathlessly. 
 " We've sent everywhere for you ! Dave has been 
 waiting two hours ! " 
 
 " Dave ? " asked Page in a low voice. 
 
 " Yes. He is in the parlor."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 LOVE 
 
 PAGE moved swiftly by Emily, entered the house 
 and took her stand in the doorway of the parlor. 
 
 The dimensions of the old room were so large, the 
 furniture so massive and gloomy, that she could 
 scarcely see by the faint lamplight in one corner. For 
 a moment her eyes strayed about and then she dis- 
 covered Dave seated in a large chair, his slouch hat 
 on the floor beside it. At her entrance he rose but 
 paused in his advance. She sprang to him with a 
 swift movement. 
 
 " Dave! " she cried and put out her hands. 
 
 He did not take them and with a quick backward 
 step Page stood gazing upon him. 
 
 His head was arrogantly lifted, the light in his eyes 
 had expired, and he had clasped his hands behind him. 
 
 She noted in a flash that he was greatly changed. 
 All boyishness had fled from him; he had grown 
 old and his face was grim. Stonewall Jackson might 
 have assumed this attitude and looked thus when con- 
 fronted by a deserter. 
 
 " So you are back," he said finally in a low quiet 
 voice, "what brought you?" 
 
 "What brought me?" 
 
 He took a step forward. "Yes, what brought 
 you?" 
 
 She advanced to him and peered up timidly into his 
 
 face. 
 
 319
 
 320 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 " You brought me, Dave I came home, I came 
 back to you ! " 
 
 " You may have made a mistake." 
 
 She recoiled. " A mistake ? Aren't you glad I 
 came? What do you mean? " Her voice lowered to 
 a whisper. " Do you mean that you don't want me ? " 
 
 " No, I mean that I do not know whether I can in- 
 sult my manhood by indulging that want ! " 
 
 " Ah ! " The word escaped her and she fell back 
 from him with her hand over her heart. 
 
 He approached her and fixed his scrutinizing eyes 
 upon her. 
 
 " You say that you have returned to me. Which 
 you, for there are two? How do I know that I care 
 to shoulder the you that I despise for the sake of the 
 you that I have always adored ? How do I know that 
 that you has not perished in the other? How? 
 Tell me!" 
 
 The cold eyes flashed a brief second. 
 
 " How do I know that you had the right to re- 
 turn? How do I know that you should be protected 
 by this sacred old roof? How?" 
 
 The full meaning of his words penetrated her. She 
 winced, drew back from him, and lost her breath for 
 a second. When she caught it the sound was audible. 
 She tried to speak but words failed her. 
 
 Then all of a sudden she took a deep breath, flung 
 up her head and stood looking at him, her whole man- 
 ner expressing triumph. 
 
 He gazed back at her amazed by an attitude that 
 failed to carry to him its meaning. Then he burst 
 forth again: 
 
 " When I heard to-day you were here I believe I 
 went mad! Sam told me. I was in the street on
 
 LOVE 321 
 
 my way home, not even caring to go there, sick at 
 heart, tired unto death. It staggered me I believe 
 I put out my arms to him I felt him holding me up ! 
 Then I broke away from him and turned and came 
 here, running, stumbling, half-blind. I forgot every- 
 thing in one thought you had come back! But 
 seated here for two whole hours alone in this silent 
 gloom, I had time to think, and in my thoughts my 
 doubt of you stole back; the blackest doubt that can 
 darken the brain of a man when he loves a woman! 
 I doubted you! Can you think what that meant! 
 Can you understand that suffering? Answer me!" 
 
 A smile crossed her lips but she was still speechless 
 and he went OIL 
 
 "Ah! How I have suffered since that night in 
 Xew York that night of Hell! Though every 
 doubt of you perish as an injustice; though years 
 might pass with you safe by my side during the day, 
 pillowed on my breast at night, I never could think of 
 it without a shudder a shrinking of my entire being 
 for not only did I feel that you were lost to me 
 but to yourself to everything! I saw you walk- 
 ing straight along into perdition where every hour of 
 your life, after the first glamour had passed, would be 
 a blistering pain! You! My love! And I went 
 through all this misery knowing that I could not inter- 
 fere that only you could save yourself and that 
 through a higher p'ower than mine! I believe I spent 
 the entire night on the train in prayer, to what or to 
 whom I did not exactly know to God, of course, 
 but you seemed so far away from God to the heav- 
 ens, the stars, the winds, the clouds, your own heart 
 the moon, the sun, the forests, all the things that you 
 loved and were turning away from. I prayed madly.
 
 322 THE DAUGHTER OF A REBEL 
 
 I believe, to all these things, your things, and God, 
 and they and your heart must have heard my prayers ! 
 But how do I know it was worth while ? " 
 
 He paused again and she felt his eyes upon her, 
 intently fixed as one watches an acrobat daringly 
 poised and who may any moment fall headlong to 
 death. 
 
 Then she laughed, the glad, merry laugh that he re- 
 membered used to sound over the hills and through 
 the forests in her childhood. 
 
 " Dave," she cried, " look into my eyes ! " 
 
 He was baffled; her manner staggered him, but he 
 recovered himself and laughed back at her a different 
 laugh from hers, still with a ring of doubt and insolent 
 scorn in it. 
 
 " Look into your eyes ! A woman's eyes may be 
 but two shining lies ! Do you remember where and 
 how I last looked into them? " 
 
 She caught his arm. 
 
 "Dave! I repeat! Look into my eyes. Look! 
 Look deep, deep, deep! See if in their depths you can 
 find any guilt ! " 
 
 She sprang back and faced him jubilantly. " Ah ! 
 Yon have a right to doubt me, I know that! ' But in 
 my joy I had forgotten it! Make me suffer for that 
 doubt! Give me pain; twist my wrists," she flung 
 out her hands, " until I cry out ; speak brutal words 
 that shock all my being; blind me with tears ; make me 
 fall on my knees before you! Then lift me up," her 
 laugh rang out again, " look into my eyes and read the 
 truth ! I am back and no words of yours no tor- 
 ture, can take away my peace ! I am glad that I went 
 away to know this joy! Glad I was insulted I was 
 insulted but through that insult I saw you as you are
 
 LOVE 323 
 
 and all the things you had tried to make me see ! Can 
 you regret those months of darkness that unveiled the 
 light? Can you regret those hours you spent in 
 prayer for me? Prayers when I was in danger, 
 prayers to heaven and my heart and all the things I 
 loved? I don't! Those prayers were heard and I 
 was safe. I am back ! I am home ! The banners you 
 told me of have all waved in my eyes to-day! I saw 
 the words on them Courage ! Bravery ! Honor ! 
 And I saw another one and the word on it was Love! 
 All day I have been seeing that word and it meant 
 life, new life for me happy life! I am so happy 
 that your words of accusation fall on deaf ears! If 
 you could see me as I am I would appear to you as a 
 woman on fire ! I am on fire with love ! I love every- 
 body! I love myself I love you! I love Nina! 
 I'm going to her! I'm going to get her well! I can 
 I know I can ! " 
 
 " Page ! " Dave breathed, gazing aghast into her 
 transfigured countenance. 
 
 "Yes, Dave!" 
 
 " Answer me ! Is this all true, or is it another of 
 your dreams? Speak!" 
 
 He leaned forward, his eyes in hers and her hands 
 fastened convulsively at the back of his neck. 
 
 "I do not know," she whispered, "but if it is a 
 dream make it for me an everlasting one ! " 
 
 His arms encircled her; his lips met hers, and her 
 soul reached high tide. 
 
 THE END
 
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