# My Lady of the South/Chapter 31

CHAPTER XXXI
OUR PLANS MISCARRY
THE gaunt, stoop-shouldered figure disappeared, and no one of us moved or spoke. Donald's lips were sternly set, his eyes burning, but Jean clung to him, her pleading face upturned. Then his fingers released their grip on the revolver butt, and his glance shifted to me, a slight smile breaking the grimness of his expression.
"Pleasant disposition, King," he said easily, and I jealously noted how his hand lifted, and rested tenderly on the girl's hair. "Really it would have been rather a pleasure to shoot the fellow, but I have never been favorably inclined toward murder; besides, the lassie here seems to be going over to his side."
"You know that is not so," she burst forth indignantly, drawing back from him. "I have as much to forgive as you, but have grown ashamed of such savagery. To his side! I am a friend to Lieutenant King, but does that mean I am disloyal to my country?"
Donald caught the girl's uplifted hand, the slight sarcastic smile vanishing from his lips.
"No, no, Jean," he insisted, "my words were a jest. I understand your position, and sympathize with it. But what can one do with that surly, revengeful brute? ​The only thing he can appreciate is hard blows. But I shall not follow him. or seek to perpetuate this quarrel. The war is giving me sufficient ﬁghting without pursuing this poor devil any longer. I'll defend myself, Jean girl, and surely you would wish me to do that?"
She was looking up at him, clinging to his hand.
"Yes, I expect that. All I ask is that you let him go, and that you make no effort to do further injury. As he says, you have won; there is hardly a Daniels left to continue the feud. Now we can afford to forgive and forget. And you will: I know you will!"
There was a moment's silence, his hands clasping her ﬁngers, his grave eyes upon her face.
"Will it make you glad to have my promise, little girl?"
"It surely will."
"Then I give it to you: no act of mine shall ever perpetuate the feud."
"You truly know nothing of Daniels's wife and children, or the burning of his cabin?"
"Nothing; but I am going now to find out."
"What brought you back so soon? You were not to return until night."
"My plans were disarranged by the news of a foraging party at work east of Lost Mountain. I sent Theilen that way to intercept their return, and rode back here myself, because, for the time, I had nothing better to do." He turned toward me. "Naturally I had supposed Lieutenant King gone before this."
​"I appreciate your generosity," I said, but not so heartily as I had intended, the suspicion coming to me that, perhaps, he was only too delighted to get me away from the girl so easily, "and I should have disappeared more promptly, but for the reappearance of that crazy creature, and my fear of leaving Miss Jean unprotected. If the same arrangements exist, I will now say good-bye to you both."
"Not quite so swiftly," his voice pleasant, yet with a touch of command in it. "You forget I am in the Confederate service, an irregular, it is true, and yet amenable to discipline. I like you, King, and you have served both myself and the lass well on several occasions. I wish to repay her debt, as well as my own, but, at the same time, feel no desire to face a court martial. Give me ten minutes first, and then the coast will be clear."
He bent down, kissed her tenderly, and faced me with extended hand. There was a lump in my throat which would not permit speech, yet I returned his firm clasp. He was a fine fellow; I could envy him, but I could neither dislike nor quarrel. Had it been Dunn I should have refused to accept freedom from him, but I understood Donald's motives, and respected the man.
"All right, old fellow, best of luck," he continued heartily. "Good-bye, Jean girl," and was gone.
Without word or glance, she moved across to the open window, holding aside the drapery of curtain while she gazed without. Apparently I was not in her thought, and she was watching for him, her head bent forward ​so as to see the front of the house. I heard the crunch of gravel under a horse's hoofs, saw her wave her hand. Then her face was turned toward me.
"Lieutenant King, you may watch with me," she said, smilingly. I came slowly across the room, scarcely realizing why I should prove obedient, and yet unable to resist her invitation. She held aside the curtain with one white hand, the gentle breeze blowing her hair. Together we watched the horseman riding swiftly across the field. Just before he disappeared he glanced back, and waved his hand. Then the girl turned, and smiled into my face.
"Do you like him, Lieutenant?"-she questioned simply.
"He has certainly given me every reason for respect. If we had met under other circumstances I should have valued his friendship highly."
"I am so glad to hear you say that. To me he is the noblest man living, and I want you to think so."
"Surely," I protested, a little surprised, "you did not suppose I would dislike him because he had come into your heart in advance of me?"
"Oh, no," the blood flooding her cheeks. "You are not one to harbor such prejudice, but I am going to think of you as a friend, and I want you really to care for those whom I care for. I have already emerged that far from sectional narrowness, Lieutenant. I can call a Yankee 'friend.' Is n't it almost a miracle? You can never know how bitter I have been; how intensely I have despised everything Northern. Somehow, you ​have taken that away from me, and I can never again feel the same toward those on the other side. I—I will always remember you."
It was not that the words of confession meant so much, but the girl's manner, coupled with this unexpected change in sentiment, seemed instantly to alter our entire relationship. She still stood, holding aside the curtain, her eyes downcast, her cheeks flushed. One hand was unoccupied, and I clasped it within my own.
"Don't," she said, almost pleadingly, yet making no effort to draw away; "you must not misunderstand. You are going away now; you must go at once. It is not probable we shall ever meet again, only we are never to be enemies any more, not even in thought. I do want you to know that."
"I thank you for that little, Miss Jean."
"It is not little," and she lifted her eyes to mine, almost indignantly. "It is a great deal. I would not say to many even what I have said to you, and my life has been lived under conditions which enable me to trust few. I trust you; I—I even think I care for you; I—I wish to recall you in memory as a friend; but, of course, you understand, that is all."
"All?"
"Yes; you are going away now; it is best so. My life is here in the South with my people. This war will be over some day, and courts reestablished. I do not know. Lieutenant King, whether I am legally your wife or not, but if I am those courts will divorce me. I shall endeavor to get notice to you, so you will also realize ​your complete freedom. You expect me to do this?"
"I suppose I do," regretfully; "but I would make any sacrifice to have it otherwise."
She was looking directly at me, her hand still in mine, her eyes gravely questioning.
"Do you really mean that?—really mean all you said to me before?"
"As God is my witness, Jean," I insisted soberly, "I do mean every word of it—I love you, earnestly, devotedly. There can be no evil in my saying this, even although I know the impossibility of your making any return. I can take no advantage of the relation between us; I claim no right to you, but I do confess my love, and I want you to know the truth. You cannot think less kindly of me for that?"
"No," the blue-gray of her eyes misty, her lips tremulous. "I—I am afraid I am so selfish as to be almost glad. Not—not that I wish you to love me; but—but it is someway a pleasure to know you care."
"Do you really mean—"
"Oh, no I don't take it that way. I ought not to have said this; I hardly know what I have said. All our acquaintance has been so strange as to leave me confused. I do like you. Lieutenant King, and I find it hard to part, yet nothing else is possible. You must go, and go at once, before the guard is changed. I pray you do not delay, do not linger here longer. I can say no more than I have said already; and your safety depends on departure at once."
It required all my power of will to comply, yet there ​was no doubting the earnestness of her plea, and I released the hand, feeling a last slight pressure of the fingers. Her eyes uplifted to mine, a yearning in their depths which seemed to intoxicate, craze me. The next instant she was fairly crushed in my arms, and my lips pressed against hers. It was over almost as quickly, and she had pressed me back from her, sinking into the nearest chair, her hands pressed against her burning cheeks.
"Oh, how could you? Now, now, you must go."
"But you forgive me, Jean? You forgive me?"
"Forgive you! It was more my fault than yours. Why do you make it all so hard for me? Don't you understand I cannot, cannot permit this? You are risking your life here. Go—go at once, for my sake, if you will not for your own."
I do not clearly remember what I did, for I seemed dazed, my brain inoperative, but I know I knelt and kissed her hand, and then backed from the room, my eyes upon her to the last. Outside, in the deserted hall, I came back to reality as though awakened by some shock, every detail of my situation flashing to my brain. I stood still listening—there was no sound from within the room I had just left, but I could hear some one tramping back and forth below. I peered over the balusters, discovering O'Brien nervously pacing from wall to wall, his eyes on the stairs.
"All clear?" I asked softly.
"Bedad, it is now, sor, but the relief will be here in foive minutes."
​I slipped down the stairs, aroused and alert, determined to make of value every remaining moment. O'Brien, his carbine grasped in one hand, opened the door silently, and I took one quick glance without. The porch and the walk below appeared deserted.
"Where are the horses?"
"Toied to the rail at the north end of the porch."
"Good choice; there are but few windows on that side. Give me your revolver. Have you cartridges?"
"Half a pocketful, sor."
We crept forth, closing the door behind us, and stole along under cover of the rail to the north steps, which led down to the carriage way. The two horses snorted and drew back, startled by our sudden appearance. I had my grip on the rein of the big roan, when O'Brien, who had stepped further out to unfasten the other animal, uttered a sudden exclamation of alarm. I sprang back to where I could see what he was staring at down the roadway. A troop of horsemen were emerging from a ravine to the left, and trotting toward the open gate. A glance told me they were Confederates, and that they were spreading out, fan-fashion, so as to surround the house. Already any attempt to escape by riding would be useless. There was but one open road, to dodge around the house, and seek some hiding-place among the shrubbery to the south. I gripped the dazed O'Brien by the arm, dragging him back behind the horses.
"Run for it, lad; around the porch, and into the grape arbor."
We were not thirty feet in advance of those spurring ​troopers. The first two rounding the house corner saw us, but, before they could throw forward their carbines, we had plunged into the shadow of the vines, running recklessly. A shot or two, fired without aim, only served to increase our pace, our only hope being to cross the orchard before others attained the rear of the house. Beyond that point the weeds offered concealment.