Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1904-07-06
CHAPTER XIV.
Revelations.

Sunday again. The great city was still
shuddering over the horrors Of the week,
for valued officers and men, military or
municipal police, had suffered painful
death or brutal injury at the hands of the
mob. whose loss of over 1000 slain and
thousands wounded had been no loss what
ever to the community.
A solemn little assemblage filed from the
Gothic vestibule of Grace that midsummer
afternoon. A black-plumed hearse moved
slowly down Broadway. followed by only
half dozen carriages. A weeping girl,
slender and graceful, heavily yelled and in
deepest mourning, leaned upon the arm of
a tall young officer In the uniform of the
cavalry Watson. the gray-faced lawyer.
held brief converse with Brown, the portly
sexton, and stepped with DR.. Tracy into one
of the rearmost carriages.
Besides the pallbearers' and four or five
club and business associates of John Ray
nor, there were few men to ride with all
that was mortal to its last resting place at
Greenwood Besides two devoted girl
friends of Editha, who had come hasten
ing to her from the seashore and not more
than two or three elders, there was dearth
of woman's tears" for the deceased had
few following kindred-as Is apt to be the
case with those bereft of most of the
worlds goods before being shorn of all.
In point of fact, the nearest to Editha in
point of kinship was Mrs. Fairbanks. by
this time farthest away. TOO much pros
trated to attend" said the sexton. with I'M
fiinching mendacity. to the few inquirers,
what they thought.
At the grave Miss Raynors grief and agi-
tatiOn were intense. Her gentle friends
were both alarmed and distressed. Tracy
tried to lead her away, but she would not
go. Even Watson's grim features twitched
in sympathy, and presently Ingraham, to
whose arm she had been convulsive1y
clinging, took her clasped hands in his left
rpipa deliberately anfn1i-
ing her trembling form, held and sustained
her to the last: led her finally away, and
almost lifted her into the waiting carriage,
where Kate Satterlee again received her
and drew her to loyal heart.
1t was nightfall when they reached upper
9Th avenue again. and there, with the Sat
terlees. Editha was to find temporary asy-
lum until they could take her to the noun
tains or the seashore, and there, two days
later, they read to her the news that the
Secretary of War had asked for the names
of the officers who had most distinguished
themselves In the suppression of the fearful
riots; that Capts. Putnam of the regulars
and Ingraham of the volunteers had been
the first designated: that the latter was or
dered to report In person to the Secretary
without unnecessary delay. She started
from the sofa, where all the long day she
had been lying. and with nervous hands
began to pen a note. when her hostess en-
tered with the simple announcement that
Capt. Ingraham had just called to inquire
for her. to leave these few flowers and to
say goodbye.
The running pantry boy caught him on
the same square below. and Obediently In
graham turned back. They led him to the
library and found means to leave within the
moment, and for the first time since that
wonderful night at the old home-the night
of his first farewell to her-the night that
he had clasped her, fond trembling, amaZ-
ed yet radiant, unrebuking. nay, unresist-
ing; had kissed her again and again even
upon her sweet. warm lips. And now-ah.
God how changed; she stood there, paliid,
wan and wistful, humbled and chastened
through many a trial and bitter sorrow.
Tears she now had none left to shed. But
there was such piteous culver about the
sweet, sensitive lips-such utter desolation
in the once joyous eyes-such droop and
pathos and humility in the pose of her
such timid appeal in the little, white hands
held forth to him, that his heart almost
burst in it's wild bounding as he took those
hands and. striving hard for seif-controi;
raised them one second to his lips. And
then, brokenly. she spoke:
Rex, I-could not let you go without
thanking you for all you have been-for all
you have done. I couldn't let you go with
months ago; without begging you-to try
to try to-forgive me.
She had nerved herself to the effort She
had striven hard for strength and self-con-
troll but now it was said. 1t was over, and
with 1t strength and will seemed ebbing too.
She felt herself going. and, blindiy turning,
tore her hands from MS IremDilnB grasp
and, burying her face in her arms sank
upon the sofa, great sobs now shaking her
lissome form.
And then. with Alice Langdon's latest let
ter vet unread. bounding over his heart,
Rex Ingraham threw himself upon his
knees before her, seized and drew to MIN
one little hand; covered 1t with passionate
kisses: then sprang to his feet and. without
another look or word, with almost a groan
upon his lips, turned and STROBE resoluteiy
from the room.
Wednesday morning he was at the war
Department had amazed its officials by de-
clining the berth of assistant adjutant gen
eral with the rank of major, and had asked
for orders to go to his troop at once. Such
orders were seldom refused, but Stanton
still had need of him. He wished to hear
more of Chalmers. and II was evening De-
fore Ingrahan could go to Brookside. he
wished It might be another week
Alice met him gently. sweetly. but her
fair face was very pale and the soft eyes
were heavy Mother, she explained. had
not been feeling strong of late and had re-
tired early. Agatha. too, had come to greet
him. and her eyes had story to tell. She
knew that he had been with Chalmers. Ii
was but a little time before they were
alone He could have begged Agatha to
stay, but she had to return, she said. TO
her mothers side. He went with her to the
stairway and sent affectionate and SYM |
pathetic messages and fingered over his |
good night.
turned. In her hand was open letter !
upper left-hand corner. In silence he drew