My lady of the South. Randall Parrish

that the necessary papers had not been procured, the girl's strong opposition to the ceremony. Surely, aided by all these, I might yet discover some means for averting the full consequences of this misfortune; ay, might even serve her a good turn by preventing her being forced into a marriage with Dunn. Anyway, I should be in no worse position on the porch than ​here, with the boy's hand on my arm. Indeed, almost before I had succeeded in reasoning the matter out thus far, we were at the steps, and I could perceive the outlines of two black figures rising up to greet me. It was the deep voice of the elder Denslow which spoke, his outstretched hand warmly grasping mine.

      "The last minute, Calvert, my boy, the last minute. So we are to march at midnight, you say? Well, we can make it with hard riding, and I can go now with a relieved heart, knowing Jean will be well looked after while we are away. I had about decided to send George with her to-night to Fairview if worse came to worst, although I hardly thought you would fail us. Come up, my boy there are chairs here to be discovered by feeling after them in the dark. Jean is somewhere within hearing, already dressed for the ride, but the damned thieving Yanks have not left us a light about the house, nor very much of anything else. However, we can get along in the dark; I reckon the parson knows his lines without a book-ah, by the way, Chaplain Mordaunt, you must be acquainted with Lieutenant Dunn, as you are both stationed at headquarters?"

      "I have seen him occasionally, although, as you may recall, he is but newly assigned."

      "True; only your second week of staff duty, isn't it, Calvert? Well, we scarcely have time to discuss these matters now. There are more important affairs to be considered. You were satisfied with the legality of the papers, Chaplain?"

      "Certainly; the license appears to be drawn in regular ​form. However, even if it were not, my authority in such time of war is ample."

      "Good; then we shall have to dispense with an unnecessary ceremony, and get away as soon as possible. Jean, daughter."

      There was no immediate response. A swift hope thrilled through me that she might have already fled, or have hidden herself within the darkened house. If so, what could I do? How could I assist in prolonging the delay? The hospitable Colonel had half forced me back into a vacated chair, and now remained facing me, standing shoulder to shoulder with his son on the upper step. The Chaplain remained seated close upon my left; all about us was latticework, thickly covered with trailing vines. The only way of escape would be by flinging both father and son headlong to the walk below, or perhaps a sudden dash back into the unknown interior. Only sheer desperation would warrant either effort, yet I half turned, but the shadows were so black I could not discern the whereabouts of the door. The Colonel spoke again, his voice growing sterner from authority.

      "Jean, we are waiting here for you; Calvert Dunn has come."

      I neither saw nor heard her as she came forward; when she answered, her slight figure suddenly appeared standing between her father and the Chaplain, a mere indistinct outline, yet so womanly as to send a sudden thrill to my heart.

      "Very well, father; I am here to keep my word with Lieutenant Dunn."

      ​

      CHAPTER V CAUGHT IN THE TRAP

       Table of Contents

      IT had come; the urgent necessity for instant action, for immediate decision, was upon me, and—I failed. I saw the Chaplain rise deliberately to his feet, and I struggled up also, fiercely gripping the back of my chair, half tempted to use it as a weapon with which to sweep the steps before me clear. Yet I hesitated, swayed by doubt, influenced by many emotions. What was right? What was best? What ought I to do?

      I was unable to decide in that instant given me for decision. I realized this much-I must get away, not only in personal safety, but likewise without creating alarm, or leaving behind me any knowledge of the special message I hoped to carry with me across the river. To that end I could gladly sacrifice myself, all of my future if need should be, but had I any right to sacrifice her also? Would even the license of war exonerate me? The opportunity for an easy escape lay clear before me; merely a few brief words spoken in the darkness, the silent acting of a simple part, the riding away together, the others departing unsuspectingly to their several commands, the leaving of the uninjured girl within easy reach of Fairview which could not be far distant, then the spur, the river, and Rosecrans.

      ​This programme appeared so easy, so tempting. It seemed as though everything had been shaped to this end, as if it were the will of Providence. Some one drew back the chairs, and a slender figure stood silently by my left side. I could not distinguish a feature of her averted face, but a vagrant breath of air blew a strand of soft hair against my cheek. Could I sacrifice her, even for such a cause? Suddenly, as if it were the whisper of the devil in my ear, came the controlling thought—she despises the man Dunn; she is being driven into this marriage against her will; possibly this very fraud on my part will best serve her, will eventually result in her final happiness. We would be together merely for an hour, or two hours; then she would be left safe in the care of friends, comprehending the deceit, angry with me, no doubt, yet nothing the worse for the adventure. It might even be that the marriage contracted under such peculiar circumstances would not be held as legal, while if it was, a divorce could be most easily obtained, on the ground of fraud, and it would remain in her memory afterwards merely as an unpleasant episode. What it might prove to me, I neither considered nor cared.

      "You will join right hands."

      How soft and small her hand was, how cold to the touch, and how it trembled beneath the clasp of my fingers! I can scarcely recall a word spoken; they came to me in the vaguest mumble of sound, conveying not the slightest meaning. I could see the broad shoulders of the Chaplain as he stood directly in front of us, his back to the steps; behind him appeared the dim outlines of the Colonel ​and Master George; I did not really perceive the girl at all, merely felt her cold hand lying unresponsive within mine. Once the drawling voice appeared to ask me something, repeating the question somewhat sharply before I could force my dry lips into the few necessary words of response. Then I heard her distinctly say, "I do," yet with an effort, as though the utterance nearly choked her. The very sound of these two words, as she thus spoke them filled with utter hopelessness, shocked me even then, and I loosened my clasp, permitting her hand to drop, as I stared toward her. The hot blood rushed to my head, every nerve tingling. Damned if I would be guilty of this cowardly thing! I would fight them all first!

      "And now I pronounce you husband and wife; whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder."

      It was already too late! Too late! The evil was done, the act consummated. In darkness, in masquerade, pretending to be another, I stood there and married Jean Denslow. I was actually guilty of this low, despicable fraud on a woman; I had connived at this ungentlemanly act; I had permitted myself to sink to this unspeakable meanness. I do not comprehend now how I ever held my peace; how I met the outstretched hands of congratulation, what inane words I mumbled in reply. I was conscious merely of regret, humiliation, intense shame. She never came near me, never once spoke, but I heard her sob chokingly as she hid her face on her father's shoulder. Slowly the life came creeping back to me, and with it the realization of our position, a dim comprehension that the cowardly game must now be played out to the end. ​However inexcusable the fraud, it must now be turned to good account; results must in some measure justify the deceit. I gripped my hands on the chair-back, compelling myself to attend to what was going on about me. George had disappeared but I could hear the sound of horses being led forward over the grass below.

      "Well, good-bye, little girl." It was the Colonel's voice. "The ride is n't a long one, and you can scarcely understand how greatly it will relieve me to know that you are safe in the care of friends."

      "I say, Calvert, there does n't seem to be anything the matter with your horse," suddenly sang out the boy from below. "He'll carry you all right. What's keeping you and Jean? Don't you know we've got to get out of here?"

      "Yes, come, Calvert," and the unsuspecting