Chapter 25
1937 Words
She opened the door slowly, belief and unbelief competing in her mind, and when it was closed again Prescott insisted upon knowing at once if Miss Catherwood were still in the house.
"Yes, she is here," Miss Grayson replied at last and reluctantly.
"Then I must see her and see her now," said Prescott, as he quietly took a seat in the chair before her.
"You cannot see her again," said Miss Grayson.
"I do not move from this chair until she comes," said Prescott resolutely, as he spread his fingers out to the tiny blaze.
Miss Grayson gave him one angry glance; her lips moved as if she would say something, but changing her mind, she took a chair on the other side of the fire and her face also bore the cast of resolution.
"It is no use, Miss Grayson," said Prescott. "I am here for the best of purposes, I assure you, and I will not stir. Please call Miss Catherwood."
Miss Grayson held out for a minute or two longer, and then, a red spot in either cheek, she walked into the next room and returned with Lucia.
Prescott knew her step, light as it was, before she came, and his heart beat a little more heavily. He rose, too, and bowed with deep respect when she appeared, feeling a strange thrill of pleasure at seeing her again.
He had wondered in what aspect she would appear, she whose nature seemed to him so varied and contradictory, and whose face was the index to these changing phases. She came in quietly, a young girl, pale, inquiring, yet saying no word; but there was a sparkle in her gaze that made the blood leap for a moment to Prescott's face.
"Miss Catherwood," he said, "you forbade me to return here, but I have come nevertheless."
She was still silent, her inquiring look upon him.
"You must leave Richmond to-night!" he said. "There must be no delay."
She made a gesture as if she would call his attention to the frozen world outside and said:
"I am willing enough to leave Richmond if I knew a way."
"I will find the way--I go with you!"
"That I cannot permit; you shall not risk your future by making such an attempt with me."
"It will certainly be risked greatly if I do not make the attempt with you," he replied.
They looked at him in wonder. Prescott saw now, by a sudden intuition, the course of action that would appeal to them most, and he said:
"It is as much for my sake as it is for yours. That you are here is known to a man powerful in this Government, and he knows also that I am aware of your presence. There is to be another search for you and I shall be forced to lead it. It means my ruin unless you escape before that search begins."
Then he explained to them as much as he thought necessary, although he did not give Mr. Sefton's name, and dwelt artfully upon his own peril rather than upon hers.
Lucia Catherwood neither moved nor spoke as Prescott told the story. Once there was a strange light in her eyes as she regarded him, but it was momentary, gone like a flash, and her face remained expressionless.
"But is there a way?" asked Miss Grayson in doubt and alarm.
"I shall find a way," replied Prescott confidently. "Lift the curtain from the window and look. The night is dark and cold; all who can will be under roofs, and even the sentinels will hug walls and earthworks. Now is our time."
"You must go, Lucia," said Miss Grayson decisively.
Miss Catherwood bowed assent and went at once to the next room to prepare for the journey.
"Will you care for her as if she were your own, your sister?" asked Miss Grayson, turning appealingly to Prescott.
"As God is my witness," he replied, and the ring in his tone was so deep and true that she could not doubt it.
"I believe you," said this bravest of old maids, looking him steadfastly in the eye for a few moments and then following the girl into the next room.
Prescott sat alone by the fire, staring at three or four coals that glowed redly on the hearth, and wondering how he should escape with this girl from Richmond. He had said confidently that he should find a way and he believed he would, but he knew of none.
They came back presently, the girl wrapped to the eyes in a heavy black cloak.
"It is Miss Grayson's," she said with a touch of humour. "She has consented to take my brown one in its place."
"Overshoes?" said Prescott, interrogatively.
Her feet peeped from beneath her dress.
"Two pairs," she replied. "I have on both Charlotte's and my own."
"Gloves?"
She held out her hands enclosed in the thickest mittens.
"You will do," said Prescott; "and now is the time for us to go."
He turned his back while these two women, tried by so many dangers, wished each other farewell. There were no tears, no vehement protestations; just a silent, clinging embrace, a few words spoken low, and then the parting. Prescott's own eyes were moist. There must be unusual qualities in these two women to inspire so deep an attachment, so much capacity for sacrifice.
He opened the door an inch or so and, looking out, beheld a city silent and dark, like a city of the dead.
"Come," he said, and the two went out into the silence and cold desolation. He glanced back and saw the door yet open a few inches. Then it closed and the brave old maid was left alone.
The girl shivered at the first touch of the night and Prescott asked anxiously if she found the cold too great.
"Only for a moment," she replied. "Which way shall we go?"
He started at the question, not yet having chosen a course, and replied in haste:
"We must reach the Baltimore road; it is not so far to the Northern pickets, and when we approach them I can leave you."
"And you?" she said, "What is to become of you?"
All save her eyes was hidden by the dark cloak, but she looked up and he saw there a light like that which had shone when she came forth to meet him in the house.
"I?" he replied lightly. "Don't worry about me. I shall return to Richmond and then help my army to fight and beat your army. Really General Lee couldn't spare me, you know. Come!"
They stole forward, two shadows in the deeper shadow, the dry snow rustling like paper under their feet. From some far point came the faint cry of a sentinel, announcing to a sleepy world that all was well, and after that the silence hung heavily as ever over the city. The cold was not unpleasant to either of them, muffled as they were in heavy clothing, for it imparted briskness and vigour to their strong young bodies, and they went on at a swift pace through the densest part of the city, into the thinning suburbs and then toward the fields and open spaces which lay on the nearer side of the earthworks. Not a human being did they see not a dog barked at them as they passed, scarcely a light showed in a window; all around them the city lay in a lethargy beneath its icy covering.
Involuntarily the girl, oppressed by the loneliness which had taken on a certain weird quality, walked closer to Prescott, and he could faintly hear her breathing as she fled with him, step for step.
"The Baltimore road lies there," he said, "and yonder are earthworks. See! Where the faint light is twinkling! that low line is what we have to pass."
They heard the creaking of wagons and the sound of voices as of men speaking to horses, and stopped to listen. Then they beheld lights nearer by on the left.
"Stay here a moment and I'll see what it is," said Prescott.
"Oh, don't leave me!" she cried with a sudden tremour.
"It is only for a moment," he replied, glad to hear that sudden tremour in her voice.
Turning aside he found close at hand an obscure tavern, and beside it at least a dozen wagons, the horses hitched as if ready for a journey. He guessed immediately that these were the wagons of farmers who had been selling provisions in the city. The owners were inside taking something to warm them up for the home journey and the horses outside were stamping their feet with the same purpose.
"Not likely to bother us," was Prescott's unspoken comment as he returned to the girl who stood motionless in the snow awaiting him. "It is nothing," he said. "We must go forward now, watch our chance and slip through the earthworks."
She did not speak, but went on with him, showing an infinite trust that appealed to every fiber of his being. The chill of the wintry night had been driven away by vigourous exercise, but its tonic effect remained with both, and now their courage began to rise as they approached the first barrier. It seemed to them that they could not fail on such a night.
"There is an interval yonder between two of the earthworks," said Prescott. "I'm sure we can pass them."
Silently they approached the opening. The moon glimmered but faintly across the white snow, and no sign of life came from the earthworks. But as they drew near a sentinel, gun on shoulder, appeared walking back and forth, and beyond where his post ended was another soldier, likewise walking back and forth, gun on shoulder.
"It is evident that our way doesn't lie there," said Prescott, turning back quickly lest the sentinel should see them and demand an explanation.
"What shall we do?" she asked, seeming now to trust to him implicitly.
"Why, try another place," he replied lightly. "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again."
They tried again and failed as before. The sentinels of the Confederacy everywhere were watchful, despite the wintry night and the little apparent need of precaution. Yet the two were drawn closer and closer together by the community of hope and despair, and when at last they drifted back toward the tavern and the wagons Prescott felt as if he, too, were seeking to escape from Richmond to join the Army of the North. He even found it in his heart to condemn the vigilance of his own.
"Captain Prescott," said the girl, as they stood watching the light in the tavern window, "I insist that you leave me here. I wish to make an attempt alone. Why should you risk yourself?"
"Even if you passed the fortifications," he replied, "you would perish in the frozen hills beyond. Do you think I have come so far to turn back now?"
Staring at the wagons and the stamping horses, he noticed one of the farmers come out of the tavern. His appearance gave Prescott a happy inspiration.
"Stay here a moment or two, Miss Catherwood," he said. "I want to talk to that man."
She obeyed without a word of protest, and he approached the farmer, who lurched toward one of the wagons. Prescott had marked this suggestive lurch, and it gave him an idea.
The farmer, heated by many warm drinks, was fumbling with the gear of his horses when Prescott approached, and to his muddled eyes the stranger seemed at least a general, looming very stiff and very tall with his great military cloak drawn threateningly about him.
"What is your name?" asked Prescott sternly.
The severe tone made a deep and proper impression on the intoxicated gentleman's agricultural mind, so he replied promptly, though with a stutter:
"Elias Gardner."
"Where are you from, Elias, and what are you doing here?"
- Writer
