"And it was old Talbot who saved us from capture," said Prescott. "I've often wondered why we were not pursued more closely that night. And he never said anything about it."

"Mrs. Markham, too, is in Richmond," Lucia continued, "and she is, perhaps, the most conspicuous of its social lights. General Markham is at the front with the army"—here she stopped abruptly and the colour came into her face. But Prescott guessed the rest. Colonel Harley was constantly in Mrs. Markham's train and that was why he came so often to Richmond. The capital was not without its gossip.

The flames died down and a red-and-yellow glow came from the heart of the coals. The light now gleamed only at times on the face of Lucia Catherwood. It seemed to Prescott (or was it fancy) that by this flickering radiance he saw a pathetic look on her face—a little touch of appeal. Again he felt a great wave of tenderness and of reverence, too. She was far better than he. Words of humility and apology leaped once more to the end of his tongue, but they did not pass his lips. He could not say them. His stubborn pride still controlled and he rambled on with commonplace and idle talk.

Miss Grayson came back bearing a lamp, and by chance, as it were, she let its flame fall first upon the face of the man and then upon the face of the woman, and she felt a little thrill of disappointment when she noted the result in either case. Miss Charlotte Grayson was one of the gentlest of fine old maids, and her heart was soft within her. She remembered the long vigils of Prescott, his deep sympathy, the substantial help that he had given, and, at last, how, at the risk of his own career, he had helped Lucia Catherwood to escape from Richmond and danger. She marked the coldness and constraint still in the air and was sorry, but knew not what to do.

Prescott rose presently and said good-night, expressing the hope that it would not be long until he again saw them both. Lucia echoed his hope in a like formal fashion and Prescott went out. He did not look back to see if the light from the window still fell across the brown grass, but hurried away in the darkness.



CHAPTER XXV

THE MOUNTAIN GENERAL

It was a bleak, cold night and Prescott's feelings were of the same tenor. The distant buildings seemed to swim in a raw mist and pedestrians fled from the streets. Prescott walked along in aimless fashion until he was hailed by a dark man on a dark horse, who wished to know if he were going "to walk right over us," but the rough words were belied by joviality and welcome.

Prescott came out of his cloud and, looking up, recognized the great cavalryman, Wood. His huge beard seemed bigger than ever, but his keen eyes shone in the black tangle as if they were looking through the holes in a mask.

"What ails you, boy?" he asked Prescott. "You were goin' to walk right into me, horse an' all, an' I don't believe you'd have seen a house if it had been planted right in your path!"

"It's true I was thinking of something else," replied Prescott with a smile, "and did not see what was about me; but how are you, General?"

Wood regarded him closely for a moment or two before replying and then said:

"All right as far as that goes, but I can't say things are movin' well for our side. We're in a deadlock down there at Petersburg, and here comes winter, loaded with snow an' hail an' ice, if signs count for anythin'. Mighty little for a cavalryman to do right now, so I just got leave of absence from General Lee, an' I've run up to Richmond for a day or two."

Then the big man laughed in an embarrassed way, and Prescott, looking up at him, knew that his face was turning red could it but be seen.

"A man may employ his time well in Richmond, General," said Prescott, feeling a sudden and not unsympathetic desire to draw him out.

The General merely nodded in reply and Prescott looked at him again and more closely. The youth of General Wood and himself had been so different that he had never before recognized what there was in this illiterate man to attract a cultivated woman.

The crude mountaineer had seemed to him hitherto to be a soldier and nothing else; and soldiership alone, in Prescott's opinion, was very far from making up the full complement of a man. The General sitting there on his horse in the darkness was so strong, so masterful, so deeply touched with what appeared to be the romantic spirit, that Prescott could readily understand his attraction for a woman of a position originally different in life. His feeling of sympathy grew stronger. Here at least was a man direct and honest, not evasive and doubtful.

"General," he said with abrupt frankness, "you have come to Richmond to see Miss Harley and I want to tell you that I wish you the utmost success."

He held out his hand and the great mountaineer enclosed it in an iron grasp. Then Wood dismounted, threw his bridle over his arm and said:

"S'pose we go along together for awhile?"

They walked a minute or two in silence, the General running his fingers nervously through his thick black beard.

"See here, Prescott," he said at last, "you've spoke plain to me an' I'll do the same to you. You wished me success with Miss Harley. Why, I thought once that you stood in the way of me or any other man."

"Not so, General; you credit me with far more attractions than I have," replied Prescott deliberately. "Miss Harley and I were children together and you know that is a tie. She likes me, I am sure, but nothing more. And I—well I admire her tremendously, but——"

He hesitated and then stopped. The mountaineer gave him a sudden keen glance and laughed softly.

"There's somebody else?" he said.

Prescott was silent but the mountaineer was satisfied.

"See here, Prescott," he exclaimed with great heartiness. "Let's wish each other success."

Their hands closed again in a firm grasp.

"There's that man Sefton," resumed the mountaineer, "but I'm not so much afraid of him as I was of you. He's cunnin' and powerful, but I don't think he's the kind of man women like. He kinder gets their teeth on edge. They're afraid of him without admirin' his strength. There's two kinds of strong men: the kind that women are afraid of an' like and the kind that they're afraid of an' don't like; an' I think Sefton falls into the last class."

Prescott's liking for his companion increased, and mingled with it was a growing admiration wholly aside from his respect for him as a soldier. He was showing observation or intuition of a high order. The General's heart was full. He had all of the mountaineer's reserve and taciturnity, but now after years of repression and at the touch of real sympathy his feelings overflowed.

"See here, Prescott," he said abruptly, "I once thought it was wrong for me to love Helen Harley—the difference between us is so great—and maybe I think so yet, but I'm goin' to try to win her anyhow. I'm just that deep in love, and maybe the good God will forgive me, because I can't help it. I loved that girl the first time I ever set eyes on her; I wasn't asked about it, I just had to."

"There is no reason why you should not go ahead and win her," said the other, warmly.

"Prescott," continued the mountaineer, "you don't know all that I've been."

"It's nothing dishonest, that I'd swear."

"It's not that, but look where I started. I was born in the mountains back there, an' I tell you we weren't much above the wild animals that live in them same mountains. There was just one room to our log house—one for father, mother and all of us. I never was taught nothin'. I didn't learn to read till I was twenty years old and the big words still bother me. I went barefoot six months every year till I was a man grown. Why, my cavalry boots pinch me now."

He uttered the lamentation of the boots with such tragic pathos that Prescott smiled, but was glad to hide it in the darkness.

"An' I don't know nothin' now," resumed the mountaineer sadly. "When I go into a parlour I'm like a bear in a cage. If there's anythin' about to break, I always break it. When they begin talkin' books and pictures and such I don't know whether they are right or wrong."

"You are not alone in that."

"An' I'm out of place in a house," continued the General, not noticing the interruption. "I belong to the mountains an' the fields, an' when this war's over I guess I'll go back to 'em. They think somethin' of me now because I can ride an' fight, but war ain't all. When it's over there'll be no use for me. I can't dance an' I can't talk pretty, an' I'm always steppin' on other peoples' feet. I guess I ain't the timber they make dandies of."

"I should hope not," said Prescott with emphasis. He was really stirred by the big man's lament, seeing that he valued so much the little things that he did not have and so little the great things that he did have.

"General," he said, "you never shirked a battle and I wouldn't shirk this contest either. If I loved a woman I'd try to win her, and you won't have to go back to the mountains when this war is over. You've made too great a name for that. We won't give you up."

Wood's eyes shone with satisfaction and gratitude.

"Do you think so?" he asked earnestly.

"I haven't a doubt of it," replied Prescott with the utmost sincerity. "If fortune was unkind to you in the beginning nature was not so. You may not know it, but I think that women consider you rather good to look at."

Thus they talked, and in his effort to console another Robert forgot some of his own pain. The simple, but, on the whole, massive character of Wood appealed to him, and the thought came with peculiar force that what was lacking in Helen Harley's nature the tougher fiber of the mountaineer would supply.

It was late when they separated and much later before Prescott was able to sleep. The shadow of the Secretary was before him and it was a menacing shadow. It seemed that this man was to supplant him at every turn, to appear in every cause his successful rival. Nor was he satisfied with himself. A small but audible voice told him he had behaved badly, but stubborn pride stopped his ear. What right did he have to accuse her? In a worldly sense, at least, she might fare well if she chose the Secretary.

There was quite a crowd in the lobby of the Spotswood Hotel next morning, gathered there to talk, after the Southern habit, when there is nothing pressing to be done, and conspicuous in it were the editors, Raymond and Winthrop, whom Prescott had not seen in months and who now received him with warmth.

"How's the Patriot?" asked Prescott of Raymond.

"The Patriot is resting just now," replied Raymond quietly.

"How is that—no news?"

"Oh, there's plenty of news, but there's no paper. I did have a little, but Winthrop was short on a supply for an edition of his own sheet, and he begged so hard that I let him have mine. That's what I call true professional courtesy."

"The paper was so bad that it crumbled all to pieces a day after printing," said Winthrop.

"So much the better," replied Raymond. "In fact, a day is much too long a life for such a sheet as Winthrop prints."

The others laughed and the talk returned to the course from which it had been taken for a moment by the arrival of Prescott. Conspicuous in the crowd was the Member of Congress, Redfield, not at all improved in appearance since the spring. His face was redder, heavier and coarser than ever.

"I tell you it is so," he said oratorically and dogmatically to the others. "The Secretary is in love with her. He was in love with Helen Harley once, but now he has changed over to the other one."

Prescott shifted uneasily. Here was the name of the Secretary dogging him and in a connection that he liked least of all.

"It's the 'Beautiful Yankee,' then," said another, a young man named Garvin, who aspired eagerly to the honours of a ladykiller. "I don't blame him. You don't see such a face and figure more than once in a lifetime. I've been thinking of going in there myself and giving the Secretary something to do."

He flecked a speck of dust off his embroidered waistcoat and exuded vanity. Prescott would have gone away at once, but such an act would have had an obvious meaning—the last thing that he desired, and he stayed, hoping that the current of talk would float to a new topic. Winthrop and Raymond glanced at him, knowing the facts of the Wilderness and of the retreat that followed, but they said nothing.

"I think that the Secretary or anybody else should go slow with this Yankee girl," said Redfield. "Who is she—and what is she? Where did she come from? She drifted in with the army after the battles in the Wilderness and that's all we know."

"It's enough," said Garvin; "because it makes a delightful mystery which but adds to the 'Beautiful Yankee's' attractions. The Secretary is far gone there. I happen to know that he is to take her to the President's reception to-morrow night."

Prescott started. He was glad now that he had not humbled himself.

"At any rate," said Redfield, "Mr. Sefton can't mean to marry her—an unknown like that; it must be something else."

Prescott felt hot pincers grip him around the heart, and a passion that he could not control flamed to his brain. He strode forward and put his hand heavily on the Member's shoulder.

"Are you speaking of Miss Catherwood?" he demanded.

"I am," replied Redfield, throwing off the heavy hand. "But what business is that of yours?"

"Simply this; that she is too good and noble a woman to be spoken of slightingly by you. Such remarks as you have just made you repeat at your risk."

Redfield made an angry reply and there were all the elements of a fierce encounter; but Raymond interfered.

"Redfield," he said, "you are wrong, and moreover you owe all of us an apology for speaking in such a way of a lady in our presence. I fully indorse all that Captain Prescott says of Miss Catherwood—I happen to have seen instances of her glorious unselfishness and sacrifice, and I know that she is one of God's most nearly perfect women."

"And so do I," said Winthrop, "and I," "and I," said the others. Redfield saw that the crowd was unanimously against him and frowned.

"Oh, well, perhaps I spoke hastily and carelessly," he said. "I apologize."

Raymond changed the talk at once.

"When do you think Grant will advance again?" he asked.

"Advance?" replied Winthrop hotly. "Advance? Why, he can't advance."

"But he came through the Wilderness."

"If he did he lost a hundred thousand men, more than Lee had altogether, and now he's checkmated."

"He'll never see Richmond unless he comes to Libby," said Redfield coarsely.

"I'm not so sure," said Raymond gravely. "Whatever we say to the people and however we try to hold up their courage, we ought not to conceal the facts from ourselves. The ports of the Confederacy are sealed up by the Yankee cruisers. We have been shattered down South and here we are blockaded in Richmond and Petersburg. It takes a cartload of our money to buy a paper collar and then it's a poor collar. When I bring out the next issue of my newspaper—and I don't know when that will be—I shall say that the prospects of the Confederacy were never brighter; but I warn you right now, gentlemen, that I shall not believe a single one of my own words."

Thus they talked, but Prescott did not follow them, his mind dwelling on Lucia and the Secretary. He was affected most unpleasantly by what he had heard and sorry now that he had come to the hotel. When he could conveniently do so he excused himself and went home.

He was gloomier than ever at supper and his mother uttered a mild jest or two on his state of mind.

"You must have failed to find any friends in the city," she said.

"I found too many," he replied. "I went to the Spotswood Hotel, mother, and I listened there to some tiresome talk about whipping the Yankees out of their boots in the next five minutes."

"Aren't you going to do it?"

Prescott laughed.

"Mother," he said, "I wouldn't have your divided heart for anything. It must cause you a terrible lot of worry."

"I do very well," she said, with her quiet smile, "and I cherish no illusions."



CHAPTER XXVI

CALYPSO

It was announced that the presidential reception on the following evening would be of special dignity and splendour, and it was thought the part of duty by all who were of consequence in Richmond to attend and make a brave show before the world. Mr. Davis, at the futile peace conference in the preceding July, had sought to impress upon the Northern delegates the superior position of the South. "It was true," he said, "that Sherman was before Atlanta, but what matter if he took it? the world must have the Southern cotton crop, and with such an asset the Southern Republic must stand." He was not inclined now to withdraw in any particular from this position, and his people stood solidly behind him.

Prescott, as he prepared for the evening, had much of the same spirit, although his was now a feeling of personal defiance toward a group of persons rather than toward the North in general.

"Are you going alone?" asked his mother.

"Why, yes, mother, unless you will go with me, and I know you won't. Whom else could I ask?"

"I thought that you might take Miss Catherwood," she replied without evasion.

"No chance there," replied Prescott, with a light laugh.

"Why not?"

"Miss Catherwood would scorn a humble individual like myself. The 'Beautiful Yankee' looks far higher. She will be escorted to-night by the brilliant, the accomplished, the powerful and subtle gentleman, the Honourable James Sefton."

"You surprise me!" said his mother, and her look was indeed full of astonishment and inquiry, as if some plan of hers had gone astray.

"I have heard the Secretary's name mentioned once or twice in connection with hers," she said, "but I did not know that his attentions had shifted completely from Helen Harley. Men are indeed changeable creatures."

"Are you just discovering that, at your age, mother?" asked Prescott lightly.

"I believe Lucia Catherwood too noble a woman to love a man like James Sefton," she said.

"Why, what do you know of Miss Catherwood?"

His mother did not answer him, and presently Prescott went to the reception, but early as he was, Colonel Harley, the two editors and others were there before him. Colonel Harley, as Raymond termed it, was "extremely peacocky." He wore his most gorgeous raiment and in addition he was clothed about with vanity. Already he was whispering in the ear of Mrs. Markham, who had renewed her freshness, her youth and her liveliness.

"If I were General Markham," said Raymond cynically, "I'd detail a guard of my most faithful soldiers to stand about my wife."

"Do you think she needs all that protection?" asked Winthrop.

"Well, no, she doesn't need it, but it may save others," replied Raymond with exceeding frankness.

Winthrop merely laughed and did not dispute the comment. The next arrival of importance was that of Helen Harley and General Wood. Colonel Harley frowned, but his sister's eyes did not meet his, and the look of the mountaineer was so lofty and fearless that he was a bold man indeed who would have challenged him even with a frown. Helen was all in white, and to Prescott she seemed some summer flower, so pure, so snowy and so gentle was she. But the General, acting upon Prescott's advice, had evidently taken his courage in his hands and arrayed himself as one who hoped to conquer. His gigantic figure was enclosed for the first time since Prescott had known him in a well-fitting uniform, and his great black mane of hair and beard had been trimmed by one who knew his business. The effect was striking and picturesque. Prescott remembered to have read long ago in a child's book of natural history that the black-maned lion was the loftiest and boldest of his kind, and General Wood seemed to him now to be the finest of the black-maned lions.

There was a shade of embarrassment in the manner of Helen Harley when she greeted Prescott. She, too, had recollections; perhaps she had fancied once, like Prescott, that she loved when she did not love. But her hesitation was over in a moment and she held out her hand warmly.

"We heard of your return from the South," she said. "Why haven't you been to see us?"

Prescott made some excuse about the pressure of duty, and then, bearing his friend's interest in mind, spoke of General Wood, who was now in conversation some distance away with the President himself.

"I believe that General Wood is to-night the most magnificent figure in the South," he said. "It is well that Mr. Davis greets him warmly. He ought to. No man under the rank of General Lee has done more for the Confederacy."

His voice had all the accent of sincerity and Helen looked up at him, thanking him silently with her eyes.

"Then you like General Wood," she said.

"I am proud to have him as a friend and I should dislike very much to have him as an enemy."

Richmond in its best garb and with its bravest face was now arriving fast, and Prescott drifted with some of his friends into one of the smaller parlours. When he returned to the larger room it was crowded, and many voices mingled there. But all noise ceased suddenly and then in the hush some one said: "There she comes!" Prescott knew who was meant and his anger hardened in him.

Miss Catherwood was looking unusually well, and even those who had dubbed her "The Beautiful Yankee" added another superlative adjective. A spot of bright red burned in either cheek and she held her head very high. "How haughty she is!" Prescott heard some one say. Her height, her figure, her look lent colour to the comment.

Her glance met Prescott's and she bowed to him, as to any other man whom she knew, and then with the Secretary beside her, obviously proud of the lady with whom he had come, she received the compliments of her host.

Lucia Catherwood did not seem to be conscious that everybody was looking at her, yet she knew it well and realized that the gaze was a singular mixture of curiosity, like and dislike. It could not well be otherwise, where there was so much beauty to inspire admiration or jealousy and where there were sentiments known to be different from those of all the others present. A mystery as tantalizing as it was seductive, together with a faint touch of scandal which some had contrived to blow upon her name, though not enough really to injure her as yet, sufficed to give a spice to the conversation when she was its subject.

The President engaged her in talk for a few minutes. He himself, clad in a grayish-brown suit of foreign manufacture, was looking thin and old, the slight stoop in his shoulders showing perceptibly. But he brightened up with Southern gallantry as he talked to Miss Catherwood. He seemed to find an attraction not only in her beauty and dignity, but in her opinions as well and the ease with which she expressed them. He held her longer than any other guest, and Mr. Sefton was the third of three, facile, smiling, explaining how they wished to make a convert of Miss Catherwood and yet expected to do so. Here in Richmond, surrounded by truth and with her eyes open to it, she must soon see the error of her ways; he, James Sefton, would vouch for it.

"I have no doubt, Mr. Sefton, that you will contribute to that end," said the President.

She was the centre of a group presently, and the group included the Secretary, Redfield, Garvin and two or three Europeans then visiting in Richmond. Prescott, afar in a corner of the room, watched her covertly. She was animated by some unusual spirit and her eyes were brilliant; her speech, too, was scintillating. The little circle sparkled with laughter and jest. They undertook to taunt her, though with good humour, on her Northern sympathies, and she replied in like vein, meeting all their arguments and predicting the fall of Richmond.

"Then, Miss Catherwood, we shall all come to you for a written protection," said Garvin.

"Oh, I shall grant it," she said. "The Union will have nothing to fear from you."

But Garvin, unabashed at the general laugh on himself, returned to the charge. Prescott wandered farther away and presently was talking to Mrs. Markham, Harley being held elsewhere by bonds of courtesy that he could not break. Thus eddies of the crowd cast these two, as it were, upon a rock where they must find solace in each other or not at all.

Mrs. Markham was a woman of wit and beauty. Prescott often had remarked it, but never with such a realizing sense. She was young, graceful, and with a face sufficiently supplied with natural roses, and above all keen with intelligence. She wore a shade of light green, a colour that harmonized wonderfully with the green tints that lurked here and there in the depths of her eyes, and once when she gazed thoughtfully at her hand Prescott noticed that it was very white and well shaped. Well, Harley was at least a man of taste.

Mrs. Markham was pliable, insinuating and complimentary. She was smitten, too, by a sudden mad desire. Always she was alive with coquetry to her finger tips, and to-night she was aflame with it. But this quiet, grave young man hitherto had seemed to her unapproachable. She used to believe him in love with Helen Harley; now she fancied him in love with some one else, and she knew his present frame of mind to be vexed irritation. Difficult conquests are those most valued, and here she saw an opportunity. He was so different from the others, too, that, wearied of easy victories, all her fighting blood was aroused.

Mrs. Markham was adroit, and did not begin by flattering too much nor by attacking any other woman. She was quietly sympathetic, spoke guardedly of Prescott's services in the war, and made a slight allusion to his difference in temperament from so many of the careless young men who fought without either forethought or present thought.

Prescott found her presence soothing; her quiet words smoothed away his irritation, and gradually, without knowing why, he began to have a better opinion of himself. He wondered at his own stupidity in not having noticed before what an admirable woman was Mrs. Markham, how much superior to others and how beautiful. He saw the unsurpassed curve of her white arm where the sleeve fell back, and there were wonderful green tints lurking in the depths of her eyes. After all, he could not blame Harley—at least, for admiration.

They passed into one of the smaller rooms and Prescott's sense of satisfaction increased. Here was one woman, and a woman of beauty and wit, too, who could appreciate him. They sat unnoticed in a corner and grew confidential. Once or twice she carelessly placed her hand upon his coat sleeve, but let it rest there only for a moment, and on each occasion he noticed that the hand and wrist were entirely worthy of the arm. It was a small hand, but the fingers were long, tapering and very white, each terminating in a rosy nail. Her face was close to his, and now and then he felt her light breath on his cheek. A thrill ran through his blood. It was very pleasant to sit in the smile of a witty and beautiful woman.

He looked up; Lucia Catherwood was passing on the arm of a Confederate general and for a moment her eyes flashed fire, but afterward became cold and unmoved. Her face was blank as a stone as she moved on, while Prescott sat red and confused. Mrs. Markham, seeming not to notice, spoke of Miss Catherwood, and she did not make the mistake of criticizing her.

"The 'Beautiful Yankee' deserves her name," she said. "I know of no other woman who could become a veritable Helen of Troy if she would."

"If she would," repeated Prescott; "but will she?"

"That I do not know."

"But I know," said Prescott recklessly; "I think she will."

Mrs. Markham did not reply. She was still the sympathetic friend, disagreeing just enough to incite triumphant and forgiving opposition.

"Even if she should, I do not know that I could wholly blame her," she said. "I fancy that it is not easy for any woman of great beauty to concentrate her whole devotion on one man. It must seem to her that she is giving too much to an individual, however good he may be."

"Do you feel that way about it yourself, Mrs. Markham?"

"I said a woman of great beauty."

"It is the same."

Her serenity was not at all disturbed and her hand rested lightly on his arm once more.

"You are a foolish boy," she said. "When you pay compliments, do not pay them in such blunt fashion."

"I could not help it; I had too good an excuse."

She smiled slightly.

"Southern men are clever at flattery," she said, "and the Northern men, they say, are not; perhaps on that account those of the North are more sincere."

"But we of the South often mean what we say, nevertheless."

Had Prescott been watching her face, he might have seen a slight change of expression, a momentary look of alarm in the green depths of the eyes—some one else was passing—but in another instant her face was as calm, as angelic as ever.

She spoke of Helen Harley and her brave struggle, the evident devotion of General Wood, and the mixed comment with which it was received.

"Will he win her?" asked Prescott.

"I do not know; but somebody should rescue her from that selfish old father of hers. He claims to be the perfect type of the true Southern gentleman—he will tell you so if you ask him—but if he is, I prefer that the rest of the world should judge the South by a false type."

"But General Wood is not without rivals," said Prescott. "I have often thought that he had one of the most formidable kind in the Secretary, Mr. Sefton."

He awaited her answer with eagerness. She was a woman of penetrating mind and what she said would be worth considering. Regarding him again with that covert glance, she saw anxiety trembling on his lips and she replied deliberately:

"The Secretary himself is another proof why a woman of beauty should not concentrate all her devotion on one man. You have seen him to-night and his assiduous attention to another woman. Captain Prescott, all men are fickle—with a few exceptions, perhaps."

She gave him her most stimulating glance, a look tipped with flame, which said even to a dull intelligence—and Prescott's was not—that he was one of the few, the rare exceptions. As her talk became more insinuating her hand touched his arm and rested there ten seconds where it had rested but five before. Again he felt her breath lightly on his cheek and he noticed how finely arched and seductive was the curve of her long yellow lashes. He had felt embarrassed and ashamed when Lucia Catherwood saw him there in an attitude of devotion to Mrs. Markham, but that sensation was giving way to stubbornness and anger. If Lucia should turn to some one else why might not he do the same?

Yielding himself to the charms of a perfect face, a low and modulated voice and a mind that never mistook flippancy and triviality for wit, he met her everywhere on common ground, and she wondered why she had not seen the attractions of this grave, quiet young man long before! Surely such a conquest—and she was not certain yet that it was achieved—was worth a half-dozen victories of the insipid and over-easy kind.

An hour later Prescott was with Lucia for a few minutes, and although no one else was within hearing, their conversation was formal and conventional to the last degree. She spoke of the pleasure of the evening, the brave show made by the Confederacy despite the pressure of the Northern armies, and her admiration for a spirit so gallant. He paid her a few empty compliments, told her she was the shining light among lesser lights, and presently he passed out. He noticed, however, that she was, indeed, as he had said so lightly, the star of the evening. The group around her never thinned, and not only were they admiring, but were anxious to match wits with her. The men of Richmond applauded, as one by one each of them was worsted in the encounter; at least, they had company in defeat, and, after all, defeat at such hands was rather more to be desired than victory. When Prescott left she was still a centre of attraction.

Prescott, full of bitterness and having no other way of escape from his entanglement, asked to be sent at once to his regiment in the trenches before Petersburg, but the request was denied him, as it was likely, so he was told, that he would be needed again in Richmond. He said nothing to his mother of his desire to go again to the front, but she saw that he was restless and uneasy, although she asked no questions.

He had ample cause to regret the refusal of the authorities to accede to his wish, when rumour and vague innuendo concerning himself and Mrs. Markham came to his ears. He wondered that so much had been made of a mere passing incident, but he forgot that his fortunes were intimately connected with those of many others. He passed Harley once in the streets and the flamboyant soldier favoured him with a stare so insolent and persistent that his wrath rose, and he did not find it easy to refrain from a quarrel; but he remembered how many names besides his own would be dragged into such an affair, and passed on.

Helen Harley, too, showed coldness toward him, and Prescott began to have the worst of all feelings—the one of lonesomeness and abandonment—as if every man's hand was against him. It begot pride, stubbornness and defiance in him, and he was in this frame of mind when Mrs. Markham, driving her Accomack pony, which somehow had survived a long period of war's dangers, nodded cheerily to him and threw him a warm and ingratiating smile. It was like a shaft of sunshine on a wintry day, and he responded so beamingly that she stopped by the sidewalk and suggested that he get into the carriage with her. It was done with such lightness and grace that he scarcely noticed it was an invitation, the request seeming to come from himself.

It was a small vehicle with a narrow seat, and they were compelled to sit so close together that he felt the softness and warmth of her body. He was compelled, too, to confess that Mrs. Markham was as attractive by daylight as by lamplight. A fur jacket and a dark dress, both close-fitting, did not conceal the curves of her trim figure. Her cheeks were glowing red with the rapid motion and the touch of a frosty morning, and the curve of long eyelashes did not wholly hide a pair of eyes that with tempting glances could draw on the suspecting and the unsuspecting alike. Mrs. Markham never looked better, never fresher, never more seductive than on that morning, and Prescott felt, with a sudden access of pride, that this delightful woman really liked him and considered him worth while. That was a genuine tribute and it did not matter why she liked him.

"May I take the reins?" he asked.

"Oh, no," she replied, giving him one more of those dazzling smiles. "You would not rob me, would you? I fancy that I look well driving and I also get the credit for spirit. I am going shopping. It may seem strange to you that there is anything left in Richmond to buy or anything to buy it with, but the article that I am in search of is a paper of pins, and I think I have enough money to pay for it."

"I don't know about that," said Prescott. "My friend Talbot gave five hundred dollars for a paper collar. That was last year, and paper collars must be dearer now. So I imagine that your paper of pins will cost at least two thousand dollars."

"I am not so foolish as to go shopping with our Confederate money. I carry gold," she replied. With her disengaged hand she tapped a little purse she carried in her pocket and it gave forth an opulent tinkle.

She was driving rapidly, chattering incessantly, but in such a gay and light fashion that Prescott's attention never wandered from herself—the red glow of her cheeks, the changing light of her eyes and the occasional gleam of white teeth as her lips parted in a laugh. Thus he did not notice that she was taking him by a long road, and that one or two whom they passed on the street looked after them in meaning fashion.

Prescott was not in love with Mrs. Markham, but he was charmed. Hers was a soft and soothing touch after a hard blow. A healing hand was outstretched to him by a beautiful woman who would be adorable to make love to—if she did not already belong to another man, such an old curmudgeon as General Markham, too! How tightly curled the tiny ringlets on her neck! He was sitting so close that he could not help seeing them and now and then they moved lightly under his breath.

He remembered that they were a long time in reaching the shop, but he did not care and said nothing. When they arrived at last she asked him to hold the lines while she went inside. She returned in a few minutes and triumphantly held up a small package.

"See," she said, "I have made my purchase, but it was the last they had, and no one can say when Richmond will be able to import another paper of pins. Maybe we shall have to ask General Grant."

"And then he won't let us," said Prescott.

She laughed and glanced up at him from under the long, curling eyelashes. The green tints showed faintly in her eyes and were singularly seductive. She made no effort to conceal her high good humour, and Prescott now and then felt her warm breath on his cheek as she turned to speak to him in intimate fashion.

She drove back by a road not the same, but as long as before, and Prescott found it all too short. His gloom fled away before her flow of spirits, her warm and intimate manner, and the town, though under gray November skies, became vivid with light and colour.

"Do you know," she said, "that the Mosaic Club meets again to-night and perhaps for the last time? Are you not coming?"

"I am not invited."

"But I invite you. I have full authority as a member and an official of the club."

"I'm all alone," said Prescott.

"And so am I," said she. "The General, you know, is at the front, and no one has been polite enough yet to ask to take me."

Her look met his with a charming innocence like that of a young girl, but the lurking green depths were in her eyes and Prescott felt a thrill despite himself.

"Why not," was his thought. "All the others have cast me aside. She chooses me. If I am to be attacked on Mrs. Markham's account—well, I'll give them reason for it."

The defiant spirit was speaking then, and he said aloud:

"If two people are alone they should go together and then they won't be alone any more. You have invited me to the club to-night, Mrs. Markham, now double your benefaction and let me take you there."

"On one condition," she said, "that we go in my pony carriage. We need no groom. The pony will stand all night in front of Mr. Peyton's house if necessary. Come at eight o'clock."

Before she reached her home she spoke of Lucia Catherwood as one comes to a subject in the course of a random conversation, and connected her name with that of the Secretary in such a manner that Prescott felt a thrill of anger rise, not against Mrs. Markham, but against Lucia and Mr. Sefton. The remark was quite innocent in appearance, but it coincided so well with his own state of mind in regard to the two that it came to him like a truth.

"The Secretary is very much in love with the 'Beautiful Yankee,'" said Mrs. Markham. "He thought once that he was in love with Helen Harley, but his imagination deceived him. Even so keen a man as the Secretary can deceive himself in regard to the gossamer affair that we call love, but his infatuation with Lucia Catherwood is genuine."

"Will he win her?" asked Prescott. Despite himself, his heart throbbed as he waited for her answer.

"I do not know," she replied; "but any woman may be won if a man only knows the way of winning."

"A Delphic utterance, if ever there was one," he said, and laughed partly in relief. She had not said that Mr. Sefton would win her.

He left Mrs. Markham at her door and went home, informing his mother by and by that he was going to a meeting of the Mosaic Club in the evening.

"I am to take a lady," he said.

"A very natural thing for a young man to do," she replied, smiling at him. "Who is it to be, Miss Catherwood or Miss Harley?"

"Neither."

"Neither?"

"No; I am in bad grace with both. The lady whom I am to have the honour, the privilege, etc., of escorting is Mrs. Markham."

Her face fell.

"I am sorry to hear it," she said frankly.

Prescott, for the first time since his childhood, felt some anger toward his mother.

"Why not, mother?" he asked. "We are all a great family here together in Richmond. Why, if you trace it back you'll probably find that every one of us is blood kin to every other one. Mrs. Markham is a woman of wit and beauty, and the honour and privilege of which I spoke so jestingly is a real honour and privilege."

"She is a married woman, my son, and not careful enough of her actions."

Prescott was silent. He felt a marked shyness in discussing such questions with his mother, but his obstinacy and pride remained even in her mild presence. A few hours later he put on his cloak and went out in the twilight, walking swiftly toward the well-kept red brick house of General Charles Markham. A coloured maid received him and took him into the parlour, but all was well-ordered and conventional. Mrs. Markham came in before the maid went out and detained her with small duties about the room.

Prescott looked around at the apartment and its comfort, even luxury. Report had not wronged General Markham when it accused him of having a quarter-master's interest in his own fortunes. It was not her fault that she became it all wonderfully well, but even as he admired her he wondered how another would look in the midst of this dusky red luxury; another with the ease and grace of Mrs. Markham herself, with the same air of perfect finish, but taller, of more sumptuous build and with a nobler face. She, too, would move with soundless steps over the dark red carpet, and were she sitting there before the fire, with the glow of the coals falling at her feet, the room would need no other presence.

"A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Wise Man," she said.

"My reward should be greater," he said, fibbing without conscience, "because I was thinking of you."

"In that event we should be starting," she said lightly. "Ben Butler and the family coach are at the door, and if you deem yourself capable of it, Sir Knight, I think that I shall let you drive this evening."

"He would be a poor captain who could not guide a vessel with such a precious cargo," said Prescott gallantly.

"You forget that you are a part of the cargo."

"But I don't count. Again it was you of whom I was thinking."

She settled herself in the phaeton beside him—very close; it could not be otherwise—and Ben Butler, the Accomack pony, obedient to the will of Prescott, rattled away through the street. He recalled how long she had been in reaching the shop by day, and how long also in returning, and now the spirit of wickedness lay hold of him; he would do likewise. He knew well where the house of Daniel Peyton stood, having been in it many times before the war, but he chose a course toward it that bent like the curve of a semicircle, and the innocent woman beside him took no notice.

The night was dark and frosty, with a wind out of the northwest that moaned among the housetops, but Prescott, with a beautiful woman by his side, was warm and cozy in the phaeton. With her dark wrap and the dark of the night around them she was almost invisible save her face, in which her eyes, with the lurking green shadows yet in them, shone when she looked up at him.

Ben Butler was a capable pony and he paid habitual deference to the wishes of his mistress—the result of long training. As he progressed at a gentle walk Prescott scarcely needed one hand for his guidance. It was this lack of occupation that caused the other to wander into dangerous proximity to the neat and well-gloved fingers of Mrs. Markham, which were not far away in the first place.

"You should not do that," she said, removing her hand, but Prescott was not sorry—he did not forget the thrill given him by the pleasant contact, and he was neither apologetic nor humble. The lady was not too angry, but there appeared to Prescott a reproachful shadow—that of another woman, taller and nobler of face and manner, and despite his manhood years he blushed in the darkness. A period of constraint followed; and he was so silent, so undemonstrative that the lady gave him a glance of surprise. Her hand strayed back to its former place of easy approach, but Prescott was busy with Ben Butler, and he yielded only when she placed her hand upon his arm, being forced by a sudden jolt of the phaeton to lean more closely against him. But, fortunately or unfortunately, they were now in front of the Peyton house, and lights were shining from every window.

Prescott stepped out of the phaeton and tied Ben Butler to the hitching-post. Then he assisted Mrs. Markham to the ground and together the two entered the portico.

"We are late," said Prescott, and he felt annoyance because of it.

"It does not matter," she said lightly, feeling no annoyance at all.

He knew that their late entrance would attract marked notice to them, and now he felt a desire to avoid such attention; but she would make of it a special event, a function. Despite Prescott's efforts, she marshaled himself and herself in such masterly fashion that every eye in the room was upon them as they entered, and none could help noticing that they came as an intimate pair—or at least the skilful lady made it seem so.

These two were the last—all the members of the club and their guests were already there, and despite the bond of fellowship and union among them many eyebrows were lifted and some asides were spoken as Mrs. Markham and Prescott arrived in this fashion.

Lucia Catherwood was present—Raymond had brought her—but she took no notice, though her bearing was high and her colour brilliant. Some one had prepared her for this evening with careful and loving hands—perhaps it was Miss Grayson. All the minute touches that count for so much were there, and in her eyes was some of the bold and reckless spirit that Prescott himself had been feeling for the last day or two.

This little company had less of partisan rancour, less of sectional feeling, than any other in Richmond, and that night they made the beautiful Yankee their willing queen. She fell in with their spirit: there was nothing that she did not share and lead. She improvised rhymes, deciphered puzzles and prepared others of her own that rivaled in ingenuity the best of Randolph or Caskie or Latham or McCarty or any of the other clever leaders of this bright company. Prescott saw the wit and beauty of Mrs. Markham pale before this brighter sun, and the Secretary seemed to be the chosen favourite of Miss Catherwood. He warmed under her favouring glance, and he, too, brought forth ample measure from the store of his wit.

Harley was there in splendid uniform, as always, but somber and brooding. Prescott clearly saw danger on the man's brow, but a threat, even one unspoken, always served to arouse him, and he returned with renewed devotion to Mrs. Markham. His growing dislike for Harley was tinctured with a strain of contempt. He accused the man's vanity and selfishness, but he forgot at the same moment that he was falling into the same pit.

The men presently withdrew for a few moments into the next room, where the host had prepared something to drink, and a good-natured, noisy crowd was gathered around the table. The noisiest of them all was Harley, whose manner was aggressive and whose face was inflamed, as if he had made himself an undisputed champion at the bowl. The Secretary was there, too, saying nothing, his thin lips wrinkled in a slight smile of satisfaction. He was often pleased with himself, rarely more so than to-night, with the memory of Lucia Catherwood's glorious brow and eyes and the obvious favour that she showed him. He was a fit mate for her, and she must see it. Wisdom and love should go together. Truly, all things were moving well with him, he repeated in his thought. Prescott was following the very course he would have chosen for him, kneeling at Mrs. Markham's feet as if she were a new Calypso. The man whom he knew to be his rival was about to embroil himself with everybody.

If he wanted more evidence of his last inference, Harley of the inflamed face and threatening brow was quick to furnish it. When Prescott came in Harley took another long draught and said to the crowd:

"I have a pretty bit of gossip for you, gentlemen."

"What is it?" asked Randolph, and all looked up, eager to hear any fresh and interesting news.

"It's the story of the spy who was here last winter," replied Harley. "The romance, rather, because that spy, as all of you know, was a woman. The story will not down. It keeps coming up, although we have a great war all about us, and I hear that the Government, so long on a blind trial, has at last struck the right one."

"Indeed," said Randolph, with increased interest. "What is it? The answer to that puzzle has always bothered me."

"They say that the spy was a woman of great beauty, and she found it impossible to escape from Richmond until an officer of ours, yielding to her claims, helped her through the lines. I'll wager that he took full pay for his trouble."

"His honour against hers," said some one.

Harley laughed coarsely.

Prescott became deathly white. He would have fought a duel then with Harley—on the instant. All the Puritan training given him by his mother and his own civilized instincts were swept away by a sudden overwhelming rush of passion.

His colour came back and none noticed its momentary loss, all eyes being on Harley. Prescott glanced at Mr. Sefton, but the Secretary remained calm, composed and smiling, listening to Harley with the same air of interested curiosity shown by the others. Prescott saw it all with a flash of intuition; the Secretary had given Harley a hint, just a vague generalization, within the confines of truth, but without any names—enough to make those concerned uneasy, but not enough to put the power in any hands save those of the Secretary. Harley himself confirmed this by continuing the subject, though somewhat uncertainly, as if he were no longer sure of his facts.

It occurred to Prescott that he might borrow this man's own weapons and fight him with the cold brain and craft that had proved so effective against himself, Robert Prescott. But when he turned to look at the Secretary he found Mr. Sefton looking at him. A glance that was a mingling of fire and steel passed between the two; it was also a look of understanding. Prescott knew and the Secretary saw that he knew. In the bosom of James Sefton respect rose high for the young man whom he had begun to hold rather cheap lately. His antagonist was entirely worthy of him.

Harley rambled on. He looked uncertainly now and then at Prescott, as if he believed him to be the traitorous officer and would provoke him into reply; but Prescott's face was a perfect mask, and his manner careless and indifferent. The suspicions of the others were not aroused, and Harley was not well enough informed to go further; but his look whenever it fell on Robert was full of hatred, and Prescott marked it well.

"What do you think of a fellow who would do such a thing?" asked Harley at last.

"I've a pretty good opinion of him," said Raymond quietly.

"You have?" exclaimed Harley.

"I have," repeated Raymond; "and I'm willing to say it before a man high in the Government, like Mr. Sefton here. Are all the powers of the Confederate Government to be gathered for the purpose of making war on one poor lone woman? Suppose we whip Grant first and bother about the woman afterward. I think I'll write an editorial on the Government's lack of chivalry—that is, I will when I get enough paper to print it on, but I don't know when that will be. However, I'll keep it in mind till that time arrives."

"I think you are wrong," said the Secretary smoothly, as one who discusses ethics and not personalities. "This man had his duty to do, and however small that duty may have been, he should have done it."

"You generalize, and since you are laying down a rule, you are right," said Raymond. "But this is a particular case and an exception. We owe some duties to the feminine gender as well as to patriotism. The greater shouldn't always be swallowed up in the lesser."

There was a laugh, and Winthrop suggested that, as they were talking of the ladies, they return to them. On the way Prescott casually joined the Secretary.

"Can I see you in the office to-morrow, Mr. Sefton?" he asked.

"Certainly," replied the Secretary. "Will three in the afternoon do? Alone, I suppose?"

"Thank you," said Prescott. "Three in the afternoon and alone will do."

Both spoke quietly, but the swift look of understanding passed once more. Then they rejoined the ladies.

Prescott had not spoken to Lucia Catherwood in the whole course of the evening, but now he sought her. Some of the charm which Mrs. Markham so lately had for him was passing; in the presence of Lucia she seemed less fair, less winning, less true. His own conduct appeared to him in another light, and he would turn aside from his vagrant fancy to the one to whom his heart was yet loyal. But he found no chance to speak to her alone. The club by spontaneous agreement had chosen to make her its heroine that night, and Prescott was permitted to be one of the circle, nothing more. As such she spoke to him occasionally as she would to others—chance remarks without colour or emphasis, apparently directed toward him because he happened to be sitting at that particular point, and not because of his personality.

Prescott chafed and sought to better his position, wishing to have an individuality of his own in her regard; but he could not change the colourless role which she assigned him. So he became silent, speaking only when some remark was obviously intended for him, and watched her face and expression. He had always told himself that her dominant characteristic was strength, power of will, endurance; but now as he looked he saw once or twice a sudden droop, faint but discernible, as if for a flitting moment she grew too weak for her burden. Prescott felt a great access of pity and tenderness. She was in a position into which no woman should be forced, and she was assailed on all sides by danger. Her very name was at the mercy of the Secretary, and now Harley with his foolish talk might at any time bring an avalanche down upon her. He himself had treated her badly, and would help her if he could. He turned to find Mrs. Markham at his elbow.

"We are going in to supper," she said, "and you will have to take me."

Thus they passed in before Lucia Catherwood's eyes, but she looked over them and came presently with Raymond.

That was a lean supper—the kitchens of Richmond in the last year of the war provided little; but Prescott was unhappy for another reason. He was there with Mrs. Markham, and she seemed to claim him as her own before all those, save his mother, for whom he cared most. General Wood and Helen Harley were across the table, her pure eyes looking up with manifest pleasure into the dark ones of the leader, which could shine so fiercely on the battlefield but were now so soft. Once Prescott caught the General's glance and it was full of wonder; intrigue and the cross play of feminine purposes were unknown worlds to the simple mountaineer.

Prescott passed from silence to a feverish and uncertain gaiety, talking more than any one at the table, an honour that he seldom coveted. Some of his jests and epigrams were good and more were bad; but all passed current at such a time, and Mrs. Markham, who was never at a loss for something to say, seconded him in able fashion. The Secretary, listening and looking, smiled quietly. "Gone to his head; foolish fellow," was what his manner clearly expressed. Prescott himself saw it at last and experienced a sudden check, remembering his resolve to fight this man with his own weapons, while here he was only an hour later behaving like a wild boy on his first escapade. He passed at once from garrulity to silence, and the contrast was so marked that the glances exchanged by the others increased.

Prescott was still taciturn when at a late hour he helped Mrs. Markham into the phaeton and they started to her home. He fully expected that Harley would overtake him when he turned away from her house and seek a quarrel, but the fear of physical harm scarcely entered into his mind. It was the gossip and the linking of names in the gossip that troubled him.

Mrs. Markham sat as close to him as ever—the little phaeton had grown no wider—but though he felt again her warm breath on his cheek, no pulse stirred.

"Why are you so silent, Captain Prescott?" she asked. "Are you thinking of Lucia Catherwood?"

"Yes," he replied frankly, "I was."

She glanced up at him, but his face was hidden in the darkness.

"She was looking very beautiful to-night," she said, "and she was supreme; all the men—and must I say it, all of us women, too—acknowledged her rule. But I do not wonder that she attracts the masculine mind—her beauty, her bearing, her mysterious past, constitute the threefold charm to which all of you men yield, Captain Prescott. I wish I knew her history."

"It could be to her credit only," said Prescott.

She glanced up at him again, and now the moonlight falling on his face enabled her to see it set and firm, and Mrs. Markham felt that there had been a change. He was not the same man who had come with her to the meeting of the club, but she was not a woman to relinquish easily a conquest or a half-conquest, and she called to her aid all the art of a strong and cultivated mind. She was bold and original in her methods, and did not leave the subject of Lucia Catherwood, but praised her, though now and then with slight reservations, letting fall the inference that she was her good friend and would be a better one if she could. Such use did she make of her gentle and unobtrusive sympathy that Prescott felt his heart warming once more to this handsome and accomplished woman.

"You will come to see me again?" she said at the door, letting a little hand linger a few moments in his.

"I fear that I may be sent at once to the front."

"But if you are not you will come?" she persisted.

"Yes," said Prescott, and bade her good-night.



CHAPTER XXVII

THE SECRETARY AND THE LADY

The chief visitor to the little house in the cross street two days later was James Sefton, the agile Secretary, who was in a fine humour with himself and did not take the trouble to conceal it. Much that conduced to his satisfaction had occurred, and the affairs that concerned him most were going well. The telegrams sent by him from the Wilderness to a trusty agent at an American seaport and forwarded thence by mail to London and Paris had been answered, and the replies were of a nature most encouraging. Moreover, the people here in Richmond in whose fortunes he was interested were conducting themselves in a manner that he wished. Therefore the Secretary was pleasant.

He was received by Lucia Catherwood in the little parlour where Prescott had often sat. She was grave and pale, as if she suffered, and there was no touch of warmth in the greeting that she gave the Secretary. But he did not appear to notice it, although he inquired after the health of herself and Miss Grayson, all in the manner of strict formality. She sat down and waited there, grave and quiet, watching him with calm, bright eyes.

The Secretary, too, was silent for a few moments, surveying the woman who sat opposite him, so cool and so composed. He felt once more the thrill of involuntary admiration that she always aroused in him.

"It is a delicate business on which I come to you, Miss Catherwood," he said. "I wish to speak of Miss Harley and my suit there; it is not prospering, as you know. Pardon me for speaking to you of such intimate feelings. I know that it is not customary, but I have thought that you might aid me."

"Was it for such a reason that you gave me a pass to Richmond and helped me to come here?"

"Well, in part, at least; but I can say in my own defense, Miss Catherwood, that I bore you no ill will. Perhaps, if the first phase of the affair had never existed, I should have helped you anyhow to come to Richmond had I known that you wished to do so."

"And how can I help you now?"

The Secretary shrugged his shoulders. He did not wish to say all that was in his mind. Moreover, he sought to bring her will into subjection to his. The personal sense that he was coming into contact with a mind as strong as his own did not wholly please him, yet by a curious contrariety this very feeling increased his admiration of her.

"I was willing that you should come to Richmond," he said, "for a reason that I will not mention and which perhaps has passed away. I have had in my mind—well, to put it plainly, a sort of bargain, a bargain in which I did not consult you. I thought that you might help me with Helen Harley, that—well, to speak plainly again, that your attractions might remove from my path one whom I considered a rival."

A deep flush overspread her face, and then, retreating, left it paler than ever. Her fingers were pressed tightly into the palms of her hands, but she said nothing.

"I am frank," continued the Secretary, "but it is best between us. Finesse would be wasted upon one with your penetrating mind, and I pay you the highest compliment I know when I discard any attempt to use it. I find that I have made a great mistake in more respects than one. The man who I thought stood in my way thought so himself at one time, but he knows better. Helen Harley is very beautiful and all that is good, but still there is something lacking. I knew it long ago, but only in the last few weeks has it had its effect upon me. This man I thought my rival has turned aside into a new path, and I—well, it seems that fate intends that he shall be my rival even in his changes—have followed him."

"What do you mean?" she asked, a sudden fire leaping to her eyes and a cold dread clutching her heart.

"I mean," he said, "that however beautiful Helen Harley may be, there are others as beautiful and one perhaps who has something that she lacks. What is that something? The power to feel passion, to love with a love that cares for nothing else, and if need be to hate with a hate that cares for nothing else. She must be a woman with fire in her veins and lightning in her heart, one who would appear to the man she loves not only a woman, but as a goddess as well."

"And have you found such a woman?"

She spoke in cold, level tones.

The Secretary looked at her sitting there, her head thrown slightly back, her eyes closed and the curve of her chin defiant to the uttermost degree. The wonder that he had not always loved this woman instead of Helen Harley returned to him. She was a girl and yet she was not; there was nothing about her immature or imperfect; she was girl and woman, too. She had spoken to him in the coldest of tones, yet he believed in the fire beneath the ice. He wished to see what kind of torch would set the flame. His feeling for her before had been intellectual, now it was sentimental and passionate.

James Sefton realized that Lucia Catherwood was not merely a woman to be admired, but one to be loved and desired. She had appealed to him as one with whom to make a great career; now she appealed to him as a woman with whom to live. He remembered the story of her carrying the wounded Prescott off the battlefield in her arms and in the dark, alone and undaunted, amid all the dead of the Wilderness. She was tall and strong, but was it so much strength and endurance as love and sacrifice? He was filled with a sudden fierce and wild jealousy of Prescott, because, when wounded and stricken down, she had sheltered him within her arms.

His look again followed the curves of her noble face and figure, the full development of strong years, and a fire of which he had not deemed himself capable burned in the eyes of the Secretary. The pale shade of Helen Harley floated away in the mist, but Lucia met his silent gaze firmly, and again she asked in cold, level tones:

"Have you found such a woman?"

"Yes, I have found her," replied the Secretary. "Perhaps I did not know it until to-day; perhaps I was not sure, but I have found her. I am a cold and what one would call a selfish man, but ice breaks up under summer heat, and I have yielded to the spell of your presence, Lucia."

"Miss Catherwood!"

"Well, Miss Catherwood—no, Lucia it shall be! I swear it shall be Lucia! I do not care for courtesy now, and you are compelled to hear me say it. It is a noble name, a beautiful one, and it gives me pleasure to say it. Lucia! Lucia! Lucia!"

"Go on, then, since I cannot stop you."

"I said that I have found such a woman and I have. Lucia, I love you, because I cannot help myself, just as you cannot help my calling you Lucia. And, Lucia, it is a love that worships, too. There is nothing bad in it. I would put myself at your feet. You shall be a queen to me and to all the rest of the world, for I have much to offer you besides my poor self. However the war may end, I shall be rich, very rich, and we shall have a great career. Let it be here if you will, or in the North, or in Europe. You have only to say."

There was then a feeling for him not all hate in the soul of Lucia Catherwood. If he loved her, that was a cloak for many sins, and she could not doubt that he did, because the man hitherto so calm and the master of himself was transformed. His words were spoken with all the fire and heat of a lover, his eyes were alight, and his figure took on a certain dignity and nobility. Lucia Catherwood, looking at him, said to herself in unspoken words: "Here is a great man and he loves me." Her heart was cold, but a ray of tenderness came from it nevertheless.

The Secretary paused and in his agitation leaned his arm upon the mantel. Again his eyes dwelt upon her noble curves, her sumptuous figure, and the soul that shone from her eyes. Never before had he felt so utter a sense of powerlessness. Hitherto to desire a thing was with him merely the preliminary to getting it. Even when Helen Harley turned away from him, he believed that by incessant pursuit he could yet win her. There he took repulses lightly, but here it was the woman alone who decreed, and whatever she might say no act or power of his could change it. He stood before her a suppliant.

"You have honoured me, Mr. Sefton, with this declaration of your love," she said, and her tones sounded to him as cold and level as ever, "but I cannot—cannot return it."

"Neither now nor ever? You may change!"

"I cannot change, Mr. Sefton." She spoke a little sadly—out of pity for him—and shook her head.

"You think that my loyalty is due to Helen Harley, but I do not love her! I cannot!"

"No, it is not that," she said. "Helen Harley may not love you; I do not think she does. But I am quite sure of myself. I know that I can never love you."

"You may not now," he said hotly, "but you can be wooed and you can be won. I could not expect you to love me at once—I am not so foolish—but devotion, a long devotion, may change a woman's heart."

"No," she repeated, "I cannot change."

She seemed to be moving away from him. She was intangible and he could not grasp her. But he raised his head proudly.

"I do not come as a beggar," he said. "I offer something besides myself."

Her eyes flashed; she, too, showed her pride.

"I stand alone, I am nothing except myself, but my choice in the most important matter that comes into a woman's life shall be as free as the air."

She, too, raised her head and met him with an unflinching gaze.

"I also understand," he said moodily. "You love Prescott."

A flush swept over her face, and then retreating left it pale again, but she was too proud to deny the charge. She would not utter an untruth nor an evasion even on so delicate a subject. There was an armed truce of silence between them for a few minutes, till the evil genius of the Secretary rose and he felt again that desire to subject her will to his own.

"If you love this young man, are you quite sure that he loves you?" he asked in quiet tones.

"I will not discuss such a subject," she replied, flushing.

"But I choose to speak of it. You saw him at the President's house two nights ago making obvious love to some one else—a married woman. Are you sure that he is worthy?"

She maintained an obstinate silence, but became paler than ever.

"If so, you have a mighty faith," he went on relentlessly. "His face was close to Mrs. Markham's. Her hair almost touched his cheek."

"I will not listen to you!" she cried.

"But you must. Richmond is ringing with talk about them. If I were a woman I should wish my lover to come to me with a clean reputation, at least."

He paused, but she would not speak. Her face was white and her teeth were set firmly together.

"I wish you would go!" she said at last, with sudden fierceness.

"But I will not. I do not like you the least when you rage like a lioness."

She sank back, coldness and quiet coming to her as suddenly as her anger had leaped up.

"You have told me that you cannot love me," he said, "and I have shown you that the man you love cannot love you. I refuse to go. Awhile since I felt that I was powerless before you, and that I must abide by your yea and nay; but I feel so no longer. Love, I take it, is a battle, and I use a military simile because there is war about us. If a good general wishes to take a position, and if he fails in the direct charge—if he is repelled with loss—he does not on that account retreat; but he resorts to artifice, to stratagem, to the mine, to the sly and adroit approach."

Her courage did not fail, but she felt a chill when he talked in this easy and sneering manner. She had liked him—a little—when he disclosed his love so openly and so boldly, but now no ray of tenderness came from her heart.

"I can give you more of the news of Richmond," said the Secretary, "and this concerns you as intimately as the other. Perhaps I should refrain from telling you, but I am jealous enough in my own cause to tell it nevertheless. Gossip in Richmond—well, I suppose I must say it—has touched your name, too. It links you with me."

"Mr. Sefton," she said in the old cold, level tones, "you spoke of my changing, but I see that you have changed. Five minutes ago I thought you a gentleman."

"If I am doing anything that seems mean to you I do it for love of you and the desire to possess you. That should be a sufficient excuse with any woman. Perhaps you do not realize that your position depends upon me. You came here because I wrote something on a piece of paper. There has been a whisper that you were once a spy in this city—think of it; the name of spy does not sound well. Rumour has touched you but lightly, yet if I say the word it can envelope and suffocate you."

"You have said that you love me; do men make threats to the women whom they love?"

"Ah, it is not that," he pleaded. "If a man have a power over a woman he loves, can you blame him if he use it to get that which he wishes?"

"Real love knows no such uses," she said, and then she rose from her chair, adding:

"I shall not listen any longer, Mr. Sefton. You remind me of my position, and it is well, perhaps, that I do not forget it. It may be, then, that I have not listened to you too long."

"And I," he replied, "if I have spoken roughly I beg your pardon. I could wish that my words were softer, but my meaning must remain the same."

He bowed courteously—it was the suave Secretary once more—and then he left her.

Lucia Catherwood sat, dry-eyed and motionless, for a long time, gazing at the opposite wall and seeing nothing there. She asked herself now why she had come back to Richmond. To be with Miss Grayson, her next of kin, and because she had no other place? That was the reason she had given to herself and others—but was it the whole reason?

Now she wished that she had never seen Richmond. The first visit had ended in disaster, and the second in worse. She hated the sight of Richmond. What right had she among these people who were not hers? She was a stranger, a foreigner, of another temperament, another cast of thought.

Her mind flitted over the threats, open and veiled, of the Secretary, but she had little fear for herself. There she had the power to fight, and her defiant spirit would rise to meet such a conflict. But this other! She must sit idle and let it go on. She was surprised at her sudden power of hatred, which was directed full against a woman in whose eyes—even in moments of peace—there were lurking green tints.

He had done much for her! Well, she had done as much for him and hence there was no balance between them. She resolved to cast him out wholly, to forget him, to make him part of a past that was not only dead but forgotten. But she knew even as she took this resolution that she feared the Secretary because she believed it lay within his power to ruin Prescott.

The door was opened and Miss Grayson came quietly into the room. She was a cool, soothing little person. Troubles, if they did not die, at least became more tolerable in her presence. She sat in silence sewing, but observed Lucia's face and knew that she was suffering much or it would not show in the countenance of one with so strong a will.

"Has Mr. Sefton been gone long?" she asked after awhile.

"Yes, but not long enough."

Miss Grayson said nothing and Miss Catherwood was the next to interrupt the silence.

"Charlotte," she said, "I intend to leave Richmond at once."

"Leaving Richmond is not a mere holiday trip now," said Miss Grayson. "There are formalities, many and difficult."

"But I must go!" exclaimed Miss Catherwood vehemently, all her anger and grief flashing out—it seemed to her that the gates suddenly opened. "I tell you I must leave this city! I hate everything in it, Charlotte, except you! I am sorry that I ever saw it!"

Miss Grayson went on calmly with her sewing.

"I shall not let you go," she said in her quiet, even voice. "I could have endured life without you had I never had you, but having had you I cannot. I shall not let you go. You must think of me now, Lucia, and not of yourself."

Miss Grayson looked up and smiled. The smile of an old maid, not herself beautiful, can be very beautiful at times.

"See what a burden I am," Miss Catherwood protested. "We nearly starved once."

Then she blushed—blushed most beautifully, thinking of a certain round gold piece, still unspent.

"You are no burden at all, but a support. I shall have money enough until this war ends. The Confederate Government, you know, Lucia, paid me for the confiscations—not as much as they were worth, but as much as I could expect—and we have been living on it."

The face of Lucia Catherwood altered. It expressed a singular tenderness as she looked at Miss Grayson, so soft, so small and so gray.

"Charlotte," she said, "I wish that I were as good as you. You are never excited, passionate or angry. You always know what you ought to do and you always do it."

Miss Grayson looked up again and her eyes suddenly sparkled.

"You make a mistake, a great mistake, Lucia," she said. "It is only the people who do wrong now and then who are really good. Those of us who do right all the time merely keep in that road because we cannot get out of it. I think it's a lack of temperament—there's no variety about us. And oh, Lucia, I tell you honestly, I get so tired of keeping forever in the straight and narrow path merely because it's easiest for me to walk that way. I don't mean to be sacrilegious, but I think that all the rejoicing in Heaven over the hundredth man who has sinned and repented was not because he had behaved well at last, but because he was so much more interesting than all the other ninety-nine put together. I wish I had your temper and impulses, Lucia, that I might flash into anger now and then and do something rash—something that I should be sorry for later on, but which in my secret heart I should be glad I had done. Oh, I get so tired of being just a plain, goody-goody little woman who will always do the right thing in the most uninteresting way; a woman about whom there is no delightful uncertainty; a woman on whom you can always reckon just as you would on the figure 4 or 6 or any other number in mathematics. I am like such a figure—a fixed quantity, and that is why I, Charlotte Grayson, am just a plain little old maid."

She had risen in her vehemence, but when she finished she sank back into her chair and a faint, delicate pink bloomed in her face. Miss Charlotte Grayson was blushing! Lucia was silent, regarding her. She felt a great flood of tenderness for this prim, quiet little woman who had, for a rare and fleeting moment, burst her shell. Miss Grayson had always accepted so calmly and so quietly the life which seemed to have been decreed for her that it never before occurred to Lucia to suppose any tempestuous feelings could rise in that breast; but she was a woman like herself, and the tie that bound them, already strong, suddenly grew stronger.

"Charlotte," she said, placing her hand gently upon the old maid's shoulder, "it seems to me sometimes that God has not been quite fair to women. He gives us too little defense against our own hearts."

"Best discard them entirely," said Miss Grayson briskly. "Come, Lucia, you promised to help me with my sewing."



CHAPTER XXVIII

THE WAY OUT

Prescott at three o'clock the following afternoon knocked on the door of Mr. Sefton's private office and the response "Come in!" was like his knock, crisp and decisive. Prescott entered and shut the door behind him. The Secretary had been sitting by the window, but he rose and received his guest courteously, extending his hand.

Prescott took the proffered hand. He had learned to look upon the Secretary as his enemy, but he found himself unable to hate him.

"We had an interview in this room once before," said the Secretary, "and it was not wholly unfriendly."

"That is true," replied Prescott, "and as the subject that I have to propose now is of a somewhat kindred nature I hope that we may keep the same tone."

"It rests with you, my dear Captain," said the Secretary meaningly.

Prescott was somewhat embarrassed. He scarcely knew how to begin.

"I came to ask a favour," he said at last.

"The willingness to bestow favours does not always imply the power."

"It is true," said Prescott; "but in this case the will may go with the power. I have come to speak to you of Lucia Catherwood."

"What of her?" asked the Secretary sharply. He was betrayed into a momentary interruption of his habitual calm, but settled himself into his seat and looked keenly across the table at his rival, trying to guess the young man's plan of campaign. Calculating upon the basis of what he himself would do in the same position, he could form no conclusion.

"I have come to speak on her account," continued Prescott, "and though I may be somewhat involved, I wish it to be distinctly understood that I am not to be considered. I ask no favour for myself."

"I see that you have brought your pride with you," said the Secretary dryly.

Prescott flushed a little.

"I trust that I always have it with me," he said.

"We are frank with each other."

"It is best so, and I have come for yet plainer speaking. I am well aware, Mr. Sefton, that you know all there is to be known concerning Miss Catherwood and myself."

"'All' is a large statement."

"I refer to the facts of Miss Catherwood's former presence in Richmond, what she did while here, and how she escaped from the city. You know that I helped her."

"And by doing so you put yourself in an extremely delicate position, should any one choose to relate the facts to the Government."

"Precisely. But again it is Miss Catherwood of whom I am speaking, not myself. You may speak of me, you may denounce me at any time you choose, but I ask you, Mr. Sefton, to respect the secret of Miss Catherwood. She has told me that her acts were almost involuntary; she came here because she had nowhere else to come—to her cousin, Miss Grayson. She admits that she was once tempted to act as a spy—that the impulse was strong within her. You know the depth of her Northern sympathies, the strength of her nature, and how deeply she was moved—but that is all she admits. This impulse has now passed. Would you ruin her here, as you can do, where she has so many friends, and where it is possible for her life to be happy?"

A thin smile appeared on the face of the Secretary.

"You will pardon me if I call this a somewhat extraordinary appeal, Captain Prescott," he said. "You seem to show a deep interest in Miss Catherwood, and yet if I am to judge by what I saw the other night, and before, your devotion is for another lady."

Prescott flushed an angry red; but remembering his resolve he replied quietly:

"It is not a question of my devotion to anybody, Mr. Sefton. I merely speak for Miss Catherwood, believing that she is in your power."

"And what induced you to believe that I would betray her?"

"I have not indicated such a belief. I merely seek to provide against a contingency."

The Secretary pondered, lightly tapping the table with the forefinger of his right hand. Prescott observed his thin, almost ascetic face, smooth-shaven and finely cut. Both General Wood and the Secretary were mountaineers, but the two faces were different; one represented blunt strength and courage; the other suppleness, dexterity, meditation, the power of silent combination. Had the two been blended here would have been one of the world's giant figures.

"We have begun by being frank; we should continue so," said the Secretary presently. "We seem doomed to be rivals always, Captain Prescott; at least we can give each other the credit of good taste. At first it was Helen Harley who took our fancy—a fancy it was and nothing more—but now I think a deeper passion has been stirred in us by the same object, Miss Catherwood. You see, I am still frank. I know very well that you care nothing for Mrs. Markham. It is but a momentary folly, the result of jealousy or something akin to it—and here I am, resolved to triumph over you, not because I would enjoy your defeat, but because my own victories are sweet to me. If I happen to hold in my hand certain cards which chance has not dealt to you, can you blame me if I play them?"

"Will you spare Miss Catherwood?" asked Prescott.

"Should I not play my cards?" repeated the Secretary.

"I see," said Prescott. "You told me that I brought my pride with me. Well, I did not bring all of it. I left at home enough to permit me to ask this favour of you. But I was wrong; I should not have made the request."

"I have not refused it yet," said the Secretary. "I merely do not wish to pledge myself. When a man makes promises he places bonds on his own arms, and I prefer mine free; but since I seek Miss Catherwood as a wife, is it not a fair inference that her fame is as dear to me as it is to you?"

Prescott was compelled to admit the truth of this statement, but it did not cover all the ground. He felt that the Secretary, while not betraying Lucia, would in some way use his knowledge of her for his own advantage. This was the thought at the bottom of his mind, but he could not speak it aloud to the Secretary. Any man would repel such an intimation at once as an insult, and the agile mind of James Sefton would make use of it as another strong trump card in playing his game.

"Then you will make no promise?" asked Prescott.

"Promises are poor coin," replied the Secretary, "hardly better than our Confederate bills. Let me repeat that the fame of Lucia Catherwood is as dear to me as it is to you. With that you should be content."

"If that is all, good-day," said Prescott, and he went out, holding his head very high. The Secretary saw defiance in his attitude.

Mr. Sefton went the following evening to the little house in the cross street, seeking an interview with Lucia Catherwood, and she, holding many things in mind, was afraid to deny him.

"It is your friend, Captain Prescott, of whom I wish to speak," he said.

"Why my friend rather than the friend of anybody else?" she asked.

"He has been of service to you, and for that reason I wish to be of service to him. There has been talk about him. He may find himself presently in a very dangerous position."

The face of Lucia Catherwood flushed very red and then became equally pale. The Secretary noticed how her form stiffened, nor did he fail to observe the single angry flash from her eyes. "She cares very much for that man," was his mental comment. The Secretary was not less frank with himself in his love than in other matters.

"If you have come here merely to discuss Richmond gossip I shall beg you to leave at once," she said coldly.

"You misunderstand me," replied the Secretary. "I do not speak of any affair of the heart that Captain Prescott may have. It is no concern of mine where his affections may fall, even if it be in an unlicensed quarter. The difficulty to which I allude is of another kind. There is malicious gossip in Richmond; something has leaked out in some way that connects him with an affair of a spy last winter. Connect is scarcely the word, because that is too definite; this is exceedingly vague. Harley spoke of it the other night, and although he did not call Prescott by name, his manner indicated that he was the man meant. Harley seems to have received a little nebulous information from a certain quarter, not enough upon which to take action had one the malice to wish it, but enough to indicate that he might obtain more from the same source."

The Secretary paused, and his expression was one of mingled concern and sympathy. A young man whom he liked was about to fall into serious difficulties and he would save him from them if he could. Yet they understood each other perfectly. A single glance, a spark from steel like that which had passed between Prescott and the Secretary, passed now between these two. The Secretary was opening another mine in the arduous siege that he had undertaken; if he could not win by treaty he would by arms, and now he was threatening her through Prescott.

She did not flinch and therefore she won his increased admiration. Her natural colour returned and she met his glance firmly. The life of Lucia Catherwood had been hard and she was trained to repression and self-reliance.

"I do not understand why you should speak of this to me," she said.

"Merely that you might exert your influence in his favour."

She was measuring him then with a glance not less penetrating than his own. Why should she seek now to save Prescott? But she would, if she could. This was a threat that the Secretary might keep, but not at once, and she would seek time.

"Captain Prescott has done me a great service," she said, "and naturally I should be grateful to any who did as much for him."

"Perhaps some one who will do as much can be found," he said. "It may be that I shall speak to him of you later and then he will claim the reward that you promise."

It was on her lips to say that she promised nothing except gratitude, but she withheld the words. It suddenly seemed fair to a singularly honest mind to meet craft with craft. She had heard of the military phrase, "in the air"; she would leave the Secretary in the air. So she merely said:

"I am not in Captain Prescott's confidence, but I know that he will thank you."

"He should," said the Secretary dryly, and left her.

Almost at the very moment that the Secretary was going to the Grayson cottage Prescott was on his way to Winthrop's newspaper office.

There was little to be done, and a group including General Wood, who had come that afternoon from Petersburg, sat in the old fashion by the stove and talked of public affairs, especially the stage into which the war had now come. The heat of the room felt grateful, as a winter night was falling outside, and in the society of his friends Prescott found himself becoming more of an optimist than he had been for some days. Cheerfulness is riveted in such a physical base as youth and strength, and Prescott was no exception. He could even smile behind his hand when he saw General Wood draw forth the infallible bowie-knife, pull a piece of pine from a rickety box that held fuel for the stove and begin to whittle from it long, symmetrical shavings that curled beautifully. This was certain evidence that General Wood, for the evening at least, was inclined to look on the bright side of life.

Unto this placid group came two men, walking heavily up the wooden stairs and showing signs of mental wear. Their eyebrows were raised with surprise at the sight of Prescott, but they made no comment. They were Harley and Redfield.

Harley approached Winthrop with a jovial air.

"I've found you a new contributor to your paper and he's ready to bring you a most interesting piece of news."

Winthrop flipped the ash off his cigar and regarded Harley coolly.

"Colonel!" he said, "I'm always grateful for good news, but I don't take it as a favour. If it comes to the pinch I can write my newspaper all by myself."

Harley changed countenance and his tone changed too.

"It's in the interest of justice," he said, "and it will be sure to attract attention at the same time."

"I imagine that it must be in the interest of justice when you and Mr. Redfield take so much trouble to secure its publication," said Winthrop; "and I imagine that I'm not risking much when I also say that you are the brilliant author who has written the little piece."