University of Virginia Library

30. CHAPTER XXX.
ARTHUR AND MAUDE.

TOM CARLETON was able to start on his journey
westward. Twice he had left his room and
joined the family below, making himself so
agreeable, and adapting himself so nicely to all the
Judge's crotchets that the old man confessed to a genuine
liking for the Yankee rascal, and expressed himself as
unwilling to part with him. He had inquired into his
family history, and, to his infinite delight, found that the
elder Carleton, Tom's father, was the very lawyer whose
speech years ago, had been instrumental in sending back
to bondage the Judge's runaway negro, Hetty's husband,
whose grave was out by the garden wall, and whose wife
and sons had rendered so different a service to the lawyer's
son.

Tom's face was scarlet when he thought of the difference,
and remembered how his father had worked to
prove that the master was entitled to his property wherever

it was found. The Judge suspected the nature of
his thoughts, and with a forced laugh, said, good-humoredly:

“You are more of an abolitionist than your father
was, I see. Well, well, young man, times change, and
we change with them. Old man Carleton did me a good
turn, for Seth was worth two thousand dollars. I never
abused him, nor gave him a blow when I got him back.
I only asked him how he liked freedom as far as he had
gone, and he didn't answer. He seemed broke down
like, and in less than a year he died. He was the best
hand I ever had, more'n half white. I cried when he
died. I'll be hanged if I didn't. I told him to live
and I'd set him free, and when I see how his eyes
lighted up I made out his papers on the spot, and
brought 'em to him, and he died with 'em in his hand,
held so tight we could scarcely get 'em out, and I had
'em buried with him in his coffin.

“`Thank you, mars'r, God bless you for letting me die
free, but it's come too late. I would worked for you,
mars'r, all the same, if you'd done this before. I wanted
to be a man, and not a thing, a brute. You have been kind
to me mars'r; thank you, thank you for liberty.'

“These are Seth's very words. I got 'em by heart,
and I said them so much that I began to wonder if freedom
wasn't better than slavery. But, bless you, my
niggers was about all I had. I couldn't give 'em up,
though I used to go out to Seth's grave and think how
he hugged the papers to the last, and wonder if the
clause `all men are born free and equal,' didn't mean the
blacks. But the pesky war broke out, and drove all this
from my head. I hate the Yankees,—I hate Lincoln. I
hate the whole Union army, though I'll be blamed if I
can hate you. Got a wife, hey?”

He turned abruptly to his guest, who had listened with
so breathless interest to the story of poor Seth, that he did
not see Maude De Vere, her eyes shining, and her cheeks
flushed, as if she were under some strong excitement.

Between herself and Arthur there had been a long
conversation concerning Captain Tom Carleton, and
other matters of greater interest to Maude. The “John
Camp” ruse had succeeded well, and Maude had a fancy
for making it do still more, by taking her patient in
safety as far as her Uncle Haverill's. She had received
several letters from her uncle, urging her to come home,
and in a week at most she was going. As one who had
been expressly sent as her escort, Mr. Carleton would of
course go with her, and in order to make the journey
with perfect safety she would have Arthur go too, and it
was of this that she had spoken to him that morning
when she found him in a little summer-house at the rear
of the long garden. There was a dark shadow on Arthur's
face, as he listened to Maude's proposition, and
when she had finished speaking, he replied:

“I intend to go with you, provided I am not ordered
back to the army, but, Maude, I will not have that Yankee
soldier hanging on to us. We have done that for
him which imperils our lives, and now that he is able to
go on, let him take his chance alone. If he is one half
as keen as Yankees think themselves to be, he will get
through unharmed. No, I won't have him in our way.”

“But think of the dangers to be encountered, the
hordes of guerrillas which infest the mountains,” Maude
pleaded, and in her earnestness she laid both her hands
on Arthur's shoulder, and stood leaning over him.

“Maude De Vere,” and Arthur spoke very decidedly,
“why are you so much interested in this man? Tell me,
and tell me truly, too,—have you learned to care for

him more than you would for a common soldier, had such
a one come to you as a runaway Yankee? If you have,
Maude,” and Arthur's face was white with determination,
“if you have, by the heavens above us, I'll put a
bullet through him myself, or worse than that, send him
back to where he came from.”

“That would be an act worthy of a Tunbridge and a
Southern gentleman,” Maude said, bitterly, and something
in her tone warned Arthur that he had gone too
far, so changing his tactics, he said more gently:

“Sit here beside me, Maude, and listen to what I have
to say. You know that I have loved you ever since I
knew the meaning of the word, and it is not in my nature
to give up what my heart is set upon. You have
refused me, but that does not matter. I want you
for my wife; I must have you for my wife. I know
you are my superior, and I am willing it should be
so. You can fashion me into anything you like. I
have screened, and hidden, and lied for that Yankee
Carleton, just to gratify you. And when I first consented
to act the traitor's part, I supposed he was most
likely some coarse, ignorant boor, but he is not. Returning
health shows him to be a well-bred gentleman,
and decidedly good-looking, so much so that I have
been jealous of him, Maude, not knowing to what your
strange opinions might lead you.”

“You know of course he has a wife,” dropped scornfully
from Maude's lips, and Arthur started quickly.

“No, Maude, I did not know it. How came you by
the knowledge? Did he tell you so?”

“Not directly, but when he was out of his head, or
asleep, he talked of Rose, and Annie, and Mary, and he
called the latter his wife. That is the way I know,”
Maude said, and Arthur's face cleared at once.

“Forgive me, Maude. I was a fool to be jealous of

him. And now let us come to a final understanding.
You have laughed at, and browbeaten, and queened it
over me for years, but I have never despaired of winning
you at the last. Once for all, then, will you be my wife?
I must have you. I cannot be denied.”

Arthur was in earnest now, and his pleadings were
eloquent with the love he felt for the girl, who listened
in silence, and then said to him:

“Arthur, it cannot be. I should make you very unhappy.
We do not agree in any one point.”

“But we will agree. I promise to conform to your
opinions in everything. I'll guide this man to Tennessee,
and give myself in future to the work of saving and
helping the entire Yankee army. I'll be a second Dan
Ellis if you like. I'll do anything but take the oath to
the Union. I've sworn to stand by the other side. I
cannot break my word even for you, Maude.”

Maude did not like him less for that last. There was
Southern fire in her heart as well as his, and Southern
blood in her veins, and though she clung to the old flag,
there were moments when she felt a flush of pride in her
misguided brothers, who fought so like heroes and believed
so heartily in their cause.

“Say, Maude,” Arthur continued, “will you be my
wife if I will do all this. Think how many lives I might
save, and how much suffering relieve; there are so many
chances where I could do good, for no one would suspect
me. Give me some hope, Maude. Speak to me.”

She was sitting with her face buried in her hands, as
many another maiden has sat, “counting the cost.” All
her life long, Arthur Tunbridge had followed her with
his love, till she was tired of the contest. Nothing she
had ever said disheartened him. No rebuff, however
severe, had availed to keep him quiet. She knew he

loved her, and perhaps she might in time love him. It
would make the old Judge and his wife so happy, while
Charlie liked Arthur so much. Other people liked him,
too. He was very popular, and she well knew that she
was envied by many a proud maiden for the attentions
of the agreeable Lieut. Tunbridge. Besides, if Arthur
pledged himself to help the escape of prisoners, he would
keep his word, and so through her much good might be
done, and hearts made happy perhaps. Others had
willingly sacrificed their lives for their country, and why
should she shrink from sacrificing her happiness, if by
it so many lives could be saved? Was it not her duty
to cast self aside and think only of the suffering she
could relieve with Arthur as her ally. Maude was selling
herself for her country, and with one great throb of bitter
pain, she said at last:

“I will deal frankly with you, Arthur, as I always
have. You are not disagreeable to me. I like you very
much as a friend. I miss you when you are away, and
am glad when you come back; still, you are not just
what I have imagined my future husband to be. I like you
for the good I know there is in you, and I may learn to
love you. I shall lead you a horrid life if I do not, for
it is not in my nature to affect what I do not feel. If I
cannot love you, I shall learn to hate you, and that will
be terrible.”

She was looking at him now, and though he winced a
little beneath the blazing eyes, she looked so grand,
so beautiful, that, foolish youth as he was, he fancied
her hate would be preferable to losing her, and so he
said:

“Go on, Maude, I am not afraid of the hatred if you always
look as you do now.”

Something like contempt leaped to her eyes then, but
she put it aside, and continued:

“I will promise only on conditions. You shall see this
Mr. Carleton safely to my Uncle Paul's. You shall befriend
and help every runaway you chance to find. You
shall relieve every suffering Union soldier when an opportunity
occurs. You shall use your influence for the
prisoners, and seek to ameliorate their wretched condition.
If you do this, Arthur, and do it faithfully, when the
war is over I will try to answer yes. Are you satisfied?”

It was a very one-sided affair, and Arthur knew it; but
love for Maude De Vere was the strongest passion of
which he was capable, and he answered:

“I am satisfied,” and kissed the cold hand which
Maude placed in his, and thought what a regal creature
he had won, and thought, too, how implicitly he would
keep the contract, even if it involved a giving up of Jefferson
Davis himself into the enemy's hands.