CHAPTER X

A CLEVER SCHEME-THE YOUNG LAWYER INVITED TO THE

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ELMS

T last Vergie was convalescent. For weeks her life had trembled in a balance, but, thanks to the best of care and a seemingly indestructible constitution, she had won the victory and was on the highway to recovery. True, she was very weak and pale, a pallor emphasized by her milk-white teeth and jet-black hair and eyes-but now she was able to sit up a part of each day; and though able to partake of only the lightest food, and of that sparingly, her sleep was normal, her nerves were restored to health, and her mind had become entirely rational. In a week, if the weather continued fine, she was to go driving with her father. Of the cause of her illness, or what had occurred at Judge Gildersleeve's, nothing had been said-nor had she been informed of current events. Dr. Boynton had ordered quiet and the avoidance of all unnecessary conversation, especially on subjects that might disquiet her; and she had made it easy to carry out his orders to the very letter by her unwonted meekness, docility, and abstinence from inquiry. The day of the Rector's return from his ill-starred visit to Richmond Mrs. Culpepper said to her husband-they were at their noonday dinner: "How is our little girlie, Fairfax? You're so close-mouthed I never can find out anything from you."

"Sound as a dollar, my dear, only weak. I'm vastly more concerned for your health."

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“Oh, never mind me, Fairfax-but Vergie, my poor darling!" Tears came to her eyes.

"But, really, Father," said Harold, "you're keeping nothing back, are you? You doctors are so blamed secretive and mysterious you always give me the creeps. Is Vergie all right? Will she soon be up and about? And her mind?"

"Harold, you scoundrel, what do you mean by such talk?" the Doctor exploded. "Vergie, I tell you, is as sound as a pine-knot; never before was in as good health as at the present moment, only weak of course; and as for her mind-I only wish you had half as much sense as your sister has. Now get out of here before I get up and give you a caning."

"Good old Pater!" laughed Harold, as he mockingly bowed himself out of the room and ascended to his sister's chamber to keep her company while she ate her frugal dinner of weak tea, buttered toast, asparagus tips, and a very small bit of broiled white fish.

""Pon my word, Vergie, you're looking fine," he exclaimed, as he marked a slight glow of color in her face.

"Good as new, Harold, only frightfully weak," she responded, as she wearily turned her head so she could see out of the window.

Very early the following morning Dr. Culpepper drove away, taking Mrs. Culpepper with him-"for a bit of this fine October air," she had said.

Harold went to the post office but very shortly returned, going immediately to Vergie's room. found her up, dressed in a loose lounging robe, and sitting To his surprise he in an invalid-chair by the window. Evidently she was very much better.

"And how is your Ladyship this morning" making a courtly bow.

"Very, very much better and stronger; me Lud," she gaily

replied, "but you? I fear you're not so well-you look anything but fit. Trouble? Loss of sleep? How fares it with thee and the fair Marjorie?"

"See here, Vergie," breaking off abruptly, "I'm deucedly glad you're better; for it's time you and I were holding a council of war. Fact is, I'm about crazy," putting his arm about her and drawing her close to him.

"So bad as that? Has la dolce Marjorieta been abusing my big brother?"

"Not that, Vergie," now more seriously. "There is something wrong with Marjorie, though what it is I can't find out; but I'm not speaking of that."

"What is it, then? Why, Harold, you alarm me." "Don't get excited, Sister, but hell's to pay."

"Hell? What would Dr. Frothingay say if he were to hear you use such a naughty word?"

"Damn Dr. Poppinjay-I mean, Frothingay!"

"Why, Harold, what is the matter?"

"Vergie," pausing and looking at her long and searchingly, as though appraising her condition, "can you bear to hear something that-well, isn't at all agreeable?"

"Why, certainly-you forget that I'm a Culpepper." Harold made a wry face but continued, "And you'll not allow yourself to become the least bit excited?"

"Please, Harold, go on. sister? But I shall become pense much longer."

Can't you trust me, your own nervous if you keep me in sus

"All right, sister mine. Of course I trust you. You always were game, the gamest little girl in the world. Now lay back in that easy chair. Let me fix your head—a trifle lower-there."

"Harold, what are you going to do? Extract a tooth?" Her laughter was good to hear.

Satisfied that she was comfortable, and in a position that

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would be restful, he told her the state of affairs, keeping nothing back: what Congress had done, the laws enacted respecting the war, the Battle of Bull Run, the call for a great army of three-year men and the prompt and enthusiastic response of the North, the unexpected firmness and sagacity of Lincoln, the increasing loyalty of the nonslaveholding states and the tide of wrath everywhere rising against Southern sympathizers, McClellan's wonderful work organizing and training a mighty army, and the general situation in the South.

At last he paused. "How are you standing it, Vergie? Wouldn't this better be 'continued in our next?" "

"Oh, no.

Please go on. It's like a great drama. I'm

not at all tired or nervous. And—?” Her head was tilted sidewise like a bird.

"Vergie, you're the greatest ever," again clasping her in his arms and kissing her.

"Oh! You horrid bear! And―?”

Briefly as possible he related the incidents of the Frothingay episode.

"Oh, the preachers," she exclaimed. "What a galaxy of angels and pack of fools. Ready to die for you, to be worms, broken vessels, accursed of men, yet-vain as peacocks. Beautifully humble, boundlessly charitable, utterly self-forgetting in ninety-nine things but-touch their vanity, creed, or church, and they become fiends. Frothingay! Such a dear old man and-simpleton!"

"Whew, Vergie, something's wrong with your liver. But seriously, do you realize what this revelation of our complicity in this Palfrey affair means to-to us? Where we stand-now?

"No, Harold, tell me."

"Vergie, darling, we're disgraced."

"In everybody's sight?" There was only the slightest

tremor in her voice. "How about the friends of-yesterday?” "Ashamed of us or-afraid."

"So bad as that?"

"Worse, Vergie-but let's defer this matter awhile. I'm wearing you out.”

"No, you're not. I must hear it all now. What could be worse than to be shunned and despised by one's supposed friends?"

"You forget our enemies."

"But have we no friends at all?"

"None that we can count on, or that could help us, though ever so willing. You see, Sister, we've overestimated our strength."

"But I thought almost everybody was on our side."

"Sentimentally, theoretically, philosophically, yes; practically, positively, aggressively, no. Not many these days are going to crucifixion for Church or State, for God or Country."

"And our 'friends' are-all turncoats?"

"No, Vergie, only prudent; and I don't blame them. Cui bono, dearie? Gildersleeve would lose his judgeship were he to put his imprimatur on us and our doctrines, Pinckney the headship of the schools, Gordon the post office. Oh, there'd be plenty doing all right, all right, and we wouldn't be helped in the least."

"Oh, the cruel, unfeeling North—I hate it!"

"No worse than the South, Vergie. I see where a whole Union family was wiped out the other day in East Tennessee. They were given one minute's grace. 'Shout for Jeff Davis or die!' They shouted for Abe Lincoln and-the census of the next world was increased by four. You see the poor unfortunates were so foolish as to be brave and remain in the enemy's country, just as-some other folks are doing up North."