CHAPTER XXIII

VOWS AND MAIDEN FANCIES-DEATH OF CHARLOTTE

CULPEPPER

HE young lawyer was battling for his life.

THE

It was no fault of Dr. Culpepper's that he was not taken to The Elms. Kentucky gentleman that he was, the moment he was released he had hastened to the young lawyer's side, with Dr. Threadkill examined the wound, concurred in the opinion that the victim had only a fighting chance for his life, and magnanimously proffered the best of everything The Elms afforded. But Judge Gildersleeve had feelingly replied:

"No; Sammy is almost as dear to us as our own son. I was the first one whom he honored with his friendship when he came to New Richmond; he is my office mate; I'm familiar with his business; Elizabeth will care for him as though she were his mother; we must have him at The Maples."

Marjorie said nothing, though it is not difficult to surmise her thoughts and emotions.

Vergie, stunned by the young lawyer's strange actions, stood apart in the deep shadows of the trees; and as it slowly dawned on her that she had been rejected-put to shame before the mob-her hatred of him leaped to unwonted bounds, in keeping with her nature; and when she had further realized that she had been supplanted, that another had taken her place, and of all persons, a Gildersleeve - Marjorie Gildersleeve - Harold's Marjorie-her

secret rage became consuming. Her cheeks glowed, her eyes flashed, and her finger-nails were buried in the flesh of her palms, though she was not conscious of any pain.

Half hid in the sombre gloom of giant primeval trees; tall, sinewy, graceful as Diana; darkly beautiful; eyes supernaturally large; breast torn bare by ruffians, but unmindful of icy December air; deaf to the mystic, dirge-like music of æolian harps formed by leafless, interlacing boughs high above her head; regardless of the dead, or surely dying, man only a few feet distant, she was the dramatic impersonation of the high-souled Indian Princess, wounded unto death, yet refusing to die-or the tigress, all softness gone, only waiting opportunity to wreak adequate vengeance.

The wound would not have been so serious, or the patient so long prostrated, but for certain serious complications that developed on the third day. Even the layman could see that fever had set in and was running high; that he was delirious; that often he was in a state resembling coma; and that a fatal termination was to be expected.

Happily for the patient's peace of mind, everything remained a blank many days; and even after the tide turned and recovery had become assured, his mind, in keeping with his feeble and emaciated body, took but little cognizance of events, and attributed no significance whatever to them. It was feared that when his condition became normal, save strength, his desire to learn the trend of events might unduly excite him; or that he might insist on returning too soon to his work; but all their fears were groundless. The past had become to him, apparently, a tempus incognitus; and consequently, as newspapers were excluded from the room, and all exciting topics of conversation were prohibited, his days at The Maples were tranquil and uneventful.

Outside the sick-room, however, there were not lacking subjects of absorbing interest. Halleck now was at war with both Grant and Buell; the mystery surrounding General Stoneman's case, yet unsolved, by the way, was exciting widespread comment, and some acrimonious discussion; both Lincoln and Davis were ardent suitors for Kentucky's and Missouri's favor, with about equal chances for success; Chase and Seward were known to be at outs with the President, and shortly after offered their resignations; England, under the leadership of the Crown, and Prime Minister, Sir John Russell, was giving the Confederacy valuable philopenas, while France was offering her friendly offices to the "two governments"; Congress, to the embarrassment of Mr. Lincoln, was pressing universal and unconditional emancipation measures; the battle of Stone River, the admission to the Union of West Virginia on manifestly legal fictions one of those many cases which are legally wrong but morally right, which might be averred of the whole course pursued by the North during the war-these are only a few of the matters, exciting enough without, but which never reached the chamber where the pale sufferer was in constant conference with Charon beside the Styx.

Even the passage of the Draft Act, on the Third of March, which so enraged the anti-bellumites, and later on precipitated furious riots, especially in New York City on the Thirteenth of July, seemed to awaken in the young lawyer only an academic interest.

As late as the Fifth of May it was not deemed prudent to mention in his presence the disastrous battle of Chancellorsville, though the frightful losses sustained by the North were more than offset, from a military standpoint, by the Confederacy's incomparable loss of Stonewall Jackson, accidentally killed by his own men.

Of the young lawyer's affaires du coeur nothing was

known, save by the parties concerned; hence nothing was said. Dr. Culpepper had not witnessed the brief pantomime at The Elms when it was thought the young lawyer was dying; and though Judge Gildersleeve had seen it all, he had attributed Marjorie's emotion, and the young lawyer's preference for her, to a very natural brotherly and sisterly regard for each other.

Both girls were mystified, each being ignorant of the young lawyer's relation to the other. If Marjorie was more lenient in her judgment, leaning to the opinion that Vergie's love had been unsought and, therefore, her passionate outburst at the last had been both unmaidenly and unjustifiable, it probably was because she was of a gentler nature, and because the young lawyer, in what had seemed to be the supreme moment of his life, when all empty gallantries and misleading courtesies are abjured, had thought of her only, and had pathetically expressed his delight in her presence, and longing for her love.

It must be confessed, however, that Marjorie had her unhappy moments. Of her love for Simonson she never had an instant's doubt-that much was certain; that she must always love him, come weal, come woe, she was as certain as she was of her very existence; that he was the manliest of men, the gentlest, bravest, strongest, truest, her father had declared, and she had always believed in the infallibility of her father-but in this instance her father's judgment was felt to be especially unerring because it so perfectly coincided with the verdict of her own heart and intellect.

"And yet-Vergie! Why had Vergie done what she did, and said what she had said?"

Very naturally this inquiry led to reminiscence and selfexamination. She confessed to herself that, after all, the young lawyer was scarcely more than a passing acquaint

ance. That, however, had been her fault, not his. She had needlessly flaunted in his face her engagement to Harold Culpepper-what wonder he had avoided her? As an honorable gentleman, he could have pursued no other course. And yet and the memory of it brought a great thrill of joy to her heart-though his lips had been sealed, his eyes had always been all-eloquent of love for her; nor ever from that first night had she doubted, for a single moment, his love for her-and she knew that from their first meeting she had loved him with all her heart.

A wistful look came into her face as she recalled a certain morning at his and her father's office when, everybody being at court, he had so pathetically, yet manfully, pleaded for her love; and her answer had been-Harold Culpepper. As though she had ever cared for the "Young Lord of The Elms," or that her engagement to Harold had ever been more than a thoughtless "Yes," laughingly given by a young girl not yet emancipated from "pig-tails" and short skirts!

"Oh, if I had only brought, in a womanly way, my heartunsanctioned engagement to Harold to an honorable termination, and had answered Sammy as my heart that day prompted me to do, how much happiness we might have had!" Then her mind, maiden-like, followed the mystic trail that leads on and on through flower-scented groves and gardens, and delicious tête-à-têtes, and crowded cathedral, and dainty gowns and orange blossoms, and procession to the rhythm of chiming bells, and wedding march, and whispered chorus from vested choir, and sweetest yet most solemn questions and rapturous answers, and festal dinner, followed by a long, long journey, and

"But Vergie-oh, yes—

Marjorie was not a vain girl; on the other hand, she was rather given to self-depreciation. But now she was