Joseph A. Altsheler – The Complete Collection

Chapter 17

"But I should never give up hope," he said. "After all, the hunted may hide, if warned, when the hunter is coming."

She gave him a glance, luminous, grateful, so like a shaft of light passing from one to another that it set Prescott's blood to leaping.

"Captain Prescott," she said, "I really owe you thanks."

Prescott felt as if he had been repaid, and afterward in the coolness of his own exclusive company he was angry with himself for the feeling--but she stirred his curiosity; he was continually conscious of a desire to know what manner of woman she was--to penetrate this icy mist, as it were, in which she seemed to envelop herself.

There was now no pretext for him to stay longer, but he glanced at the fire which had burned lower than ever, only two coals hugging each other in the feeble effort to give forth heat. Prescott was standing beside a little table and unconsciously he rested his right hand upon it. But he slipped the hand into his pocket, and when he took it out and rested it upon the table again there was something between the closed fingers.

Miss Grayson returned at this moment to the room and looked inquiringly at the two.

"Miss Catherwood will tell you all that I have said to her," said Prescott, "and I bid you both adieu."

When he lifted his hand from the table he left upon it what the fingers had held, but neither of the women noticed the action.

Prescott slipped into the street, looking carefully to see that he was not observed, and annoyed because he had to do so; as always his heart revolted at hidden work. But Richmond was cold and desolate, and he went back to the heart of the city, unobserved, meaning to find Winthrop, who always knew the gossip, and to learn if any further steps had been taken in the matter of the stolen documents.

He found the editor with plenty of time on his hands and an abundant inclination to talk. Yes, there was something. Mr. Sefton, so he heard, meant to make the matter one of vital importance, and the higher officers of the Government were content to leave it to him, confident of his ability and pertinacity and glad enough to be relieved of such a task.

Prescott, when he heard this, gazed thoughtfully at the cobwebbed ceiling. There was yet no call for him to go to the front, and he would stay to match his wits against those of the great Mr. Sefton; he had been drawn unconsciously into a conflict--a conflict of which he was perhaps unconscious--and every impulse in him told him to fight.

When he went to his supper that evening he found a very small package wrapped in brown paper lying unopened beside his plate. He knew it in an instant, and despite himself his face flooded with colour.

"It was left here for you an hour ago," said his mother, who in that moment achieved a triumph permitted to few mothers, burying a mighty curiosity under seeming indifference.

"Who left it, mother?" asked Prescott, involuntarily.

"I do not know," she replied. "There was a heavy knock upon the door while I was busy, and when I went there after a moment's delay I found this lying upon the sill, but the bringer was gone."

Prescott put the package in his pocket and ate his supper uneasily.

When he was alone in his room he drew the tiny parcel from his pocket and took off the paper, disclosing two twenty-dollar gold pieces, which he returned to his pocket with a sigh.

"At least I meant well," he said to himself.

A persistent nature feeds on opposition, and the failure of his first attempt merely prepared Prescott for a second. The affair, too, began to absorb his mind to such an extent that his friends noticed his lack of interest in the society and amusements of Richmond. He had been well received there, his own connections, his new friends, and above all his pleasing personality, exercising a powerful influence; and, coming from the rough fields of war, he had enjoyed his stay very keenly.

But he had a preoccupation now, and he was bent upon doing what he wished to do. Talbot and the two editors rallied him upon his absence of mind, and even Helen, despite her new interest in Wood, looked a little surprised and perhaps a little aggrieved at his inattention; but none of these things had any effect upon him. His mind was now thrown for the time being into one channel, and he could not turn it into another if he wished.

On the next morning after his failure he passed again near the little wooden house, the day being as cold as ever and the smoke of many chimneys lying in black lines against the perfect blue-and-white heavens. He looked at the chimney of the little wooden cottage, and there, too, was smoke coming forth; but it was a thin and feeble stream, scarcely making even a pale blur against the transparent skies. The house itself appeared to be as cold and chilly as the frozen snow outside.

Prescott glanced up and down the street. An old man, driving a small wagon drawn by a single horse, was about to pass him. Prescott looked into the body of the wagon and saw that it contained coal.

"For sale?" he asked.

The man nodded.

"How much for the lot?"

"Twenty dollars."

"Gold or Confederate money?"

The old man blew his breath on his red woolen comforter and thoughtfully watched it freeze there, then he looked Prescott squarely in the face and asked:

"Stranger, have you just escaped from a lunatic asylum?"

"Certainly not!"

"Then why do you ask me such a fool question?"

Prescott drew forth one of the two twenty-dollar gold pieces and handed it to the man.

"I take your coal," he said. "Now unload it into that little back yard there and answer no questions. Can you do both?"

"Of course--for twenty dollars in gold," replied the driver.

Prescott walked farther up the street, but he watched the man, and saw him fulfil his bargain, a task easily and quickly done. He tipped the coal into the little back yard of the wooden cottage, and drove away, obviously content with himself and his bargain. Then Prescott, too, went his way, feeling a pleasant glow.

He came back the next morning and the coal lay untouched. The board fence concealed it from the notice of casual passers, and so thieves had not been tempted. Those in the house must have seen it, yet not a lump was gone; and the feeble stream of smoke from the chimney had disappeared; nothing rose there to stain the sky. It occurred to Prescott that both the women might have fled from the city, but second thought told him escape was impossible. They must yet be inside the house; and surely it was very cold there!

He came back the same afternoon, but the coal was still untouched and the cold gripped everything in bands of iron. He returned a third time the next morning, slipping along in the shadow of the high board fence like a thief--he did have a somewhat guilty conscience--but when he peeped over the fence he uttered an exclamation.

Four of the largest lumps of coal were missing!

There was no doubt of it; he had marked them lying on the top of the heap, and distinguished by their unusual size.

"They are certainly gone," said Prescott to himself.

But it was not thieves. There in the snow he perceived the tracks of small feet leading from the coal-heap to the back door of the house.

Prescott felt a mighty sense of triumph, and gave utterance in a low voice to the unpoetic exclamation:

"They had to knuckle!"

But there was no smoke coming from the chimney, and he knew they had just taken the coal. "They!" It was "she," as there was only one trail in the snow, but he wondered which one. He was curiously inquisitive on this point, and he would have given much to know, but he did not dream of forcing an entrance into the house; yes "forcing" was now the word.

He was afraid to linger, as he did not wish to be seen by anybody either inside or outside the cottage, and went away; but he came back in an hour--that is, he came to the corner of the street, where he could see the feeble column of smoke rising once more from the chimney of the little wooden house.

Then, beholding this faint and unintentional signal, he smote himself upon the knee, giving utterance again to his feelings of triumph, and departed, considering himself a young man of perception and ability. His amiability lasted so long that his mother congratulated him upon it, and remarked that he must have had good news, but Prescott gallantly attributed his happiness to her presence alone. She said nothing in reply, but kept her thoughts to herself.

Inasmuch as the mind grows upon what it consumes, Prescott was soon stricken with a second thought, and the next day at twilight he bought as obscurely as he could a Virginia-cured ham and carried it away, wrapped in brown paper, under his arm.

Fortunately he met no one who took notice, and he reached the little street unobserved. Here he deliberated with himself awhile, but concluded at last to put it on the back door step.

"When they come for coal," he said to himself, "they will see it, or if they don't they will fall over it, if some sneak thief doesn't get it first."

He noticed, dark as it was, that the little trail in the snow had grown, and in an equal ratio the size of the coal pile had diminished.

Then he crept away, looking about him with great care lest he be seen, but some intuition sent him back, and when he stole along in the shadow of the fence he saw the rear door of the house open and a thin, angular figure appear upon the threshold. It was too dark for him to see the face, but he knew it to be Miss Grayson. That figure could not belong to the other.

She stumbled, too, and uttered a low cry, and Prescott, knowing the cause of both, was pleased. Then he saw her stoop and, raising his supply of manna in both her hands, unfold the wrappings of brown paper. She looked all about, and Prescott knew, in fancy, that her gaze was startled and inquisitive. The situation appealed to him, flattering alike his sense of pleasure and his sense of mystery, and again he laughed softly to himself.

A cloud which had hidden it sailed past and the moonlight fell in a silver glow on the old maid's thin but noble features; then Prescott saw a look of perplexity, mingled with another look which he did not wholly understand, but which did not seem hostile. She hesitated awhile, fingering the package, then she put it back upon the sill and beckoned to one within.

Prescott saw Miss Catherwood appear beside Miss Grayson. He could never mistake her--her height, that proud curve of the neck and the firm poise of the head. She wore, too, the famous brown cloak--thrown over her shoulders. He found a strange pleasure in seeing her there, but he was sorry, too, that Miss Grayson had called her, as he fancied now that he knew the result.

He saw them talking, the shrug of the younger woman's shoulders, the appealing gesture of the older, and then the placing of the package upon the sill, after which the two retreated into the house and shut the door.

Prescott experienced distinct irritation, even anger, and rising from his covert he walked away, feeling for the moment rather smaller than usual.