9. CHAPTER IX.
EDITH AT THE BLACK BEAR.
Several hours had passed, and yet Wiry Willy had not
returned. Edith, strong in mind and bold in heart, endeavored
to repress the perturbations natural to one in her forlorn
condition; and for a long time she struggled bravely
against the approaches of despair. She read the papers, or
rather the extras, issued from the newspaper offices in narrow
slips; for there had ceased to be any regular editions,
inasmuch as a vast number of printers had abandoned their
cases. But in these slips, which she purchased from the
newsboys as they ran screaming past the window, she
learned much that had occurred, and was occurring in the
city, as well as something of the political and warlike news
at a distance. The President had detached a thousand men
to guard the telegraphic wires, now repaired, running north
and south from Washington. And she read, with throbbing
heart, the proceedings of the Convention in Richmond.
Pale and trembling, but with her cap obscuring as much of
her face as possible, she learned that her own affianced lord
had been appointed Commander-in-Chief of the Southern
armies! But—and she perused it with joy—the Convention
had resolved that the Southern people, while prepared
to repel aggression, did not design immediately to act on
the offensive against the North. The attempt of General
Crook at Washington was disavowed; nevertheless, he was
not punished for it. There was, indeed, considerable hesitation
on the part of the Convention to adopt extreme
measures; for the reason, as it was alleged, that the Southern,
like the Northern people, had manifested a reluctance
to vote for Delegates, and it was apparent that a large majority
had neglected or refused to exercise the elective
franchise.
“Here's a later slip, sir,” said a handsome, smiling lass,
seeing Edith's abstraction after finishing the perusal of the
extra Ledger that lay upon her knee.
“Thank you,” said Edith, and then eagerly devoured the
contents. This bulletin referred exclusively to incidents
within the city. It contained an account of the captivity
of the editor of the — by a party of Abolitionists, and
his confinement in a wooden cage. It likewise dwelt to
some extent on a sad mistake committed by the same party.
It appeared that they had burned down a very large printing
establishment west of the Square, supposing it to be the
property of the editor, when, in fact, it was the property of
one belonging to the Anti-slavery party. Edith could not
avoid smiling at this blunder; and the hearty maiden,
whose brilliant dark eyes had long been riveted on her,
moved closer and said:—
“I'm glad to see any one smile in such times as these. It
is a great comfort to me; and, indeed, I was afraid to let
my father go out alone; but he said I must stay here till he
came back. I don't know a single soul in this room, but I
suppose they all live in the neighborhood of the city, as we
do, and are waiting for their fathers, or brothers, or husbands.
I have no brother nor—”
“Husband?”
“Fy, no!” said she, blushing. “I never thought of such
a thing. But really, it makes me melancholy to see you
looking out of the window so often, and sighing so—”
“Have you seen that?”
“I thought so; but I might 've been mistaken. And I
couldn't help thinking that perhaps your friends were killed,
or your home destroyed, and there might be no place for
you to go to in such dreadful times; and if such were the case,
I'm sure my good-natured father would be glad if you
would go home with him. We live only five miles from
Camden. We have a good house, and one of the finest
farms in the State.”
“I'm sure I feel very grateful,” said Edith, somewhat
vexed at the impetuous earnestness of the damsel, who was
probably inclined to fall in love with her, a complication she
by no means desired; “but I have a friend, whose return I
am looking for every moment.”
And when the maiden was, soon after, departing with her
father, she found an opportunity to indicate precisely where
she dwelt, and to intimate that the supposed young man
would at any time be a welcome visitor.
Another bulletin, purchased by Edith, contained the joyful
intelligence that Senator Langdon had appeared at the
meeting of merchants and others in the Musical Fund Hall,
and the few remarks he uttered on the occasion were
printed in the extra. A weight was removed from Edith's
heart, and she felt greatly relieved. But her impatience
for the return of Wiry Willy increased. She strode backwards
and forwards in the parlor, repressing as much as
possible her eagerness to fly to her father, and innocently
exerting, at the same time, her powers of imitation in acting
the part of one of the opposite sex. And she did this with
decided success, for no one seemed to suspect her presentment
might be a counterfeit.
It was during this promenade that Edith, on turning, was
confronted by Major Trapp, the stranger who had begged
a glass of water in the country, and subsequently appeared
in the cars. He bowed to her, and, in return, had a haughty
and scarcely perceptible nod.
“Pardon me,” said he, advancing to Edith's side, who
strove in vain to elude him; “but your friend parted from
me very abruptly at the depôt.” He did not add that he
had been revenged.
“That may be, sir,” said Edith, with a cold averted
look; “but I presume he can make a satisfactory explanation.”
“But he is not here,” said he, “and I am very desirous
of having an explanation.”
“And I have none to offer!” said Edith, courageously,
turning on her heel and walking away. He followed.
“You must know, most valiant youth,” continued he,
“that I am Major Trapp, and aide-de-camp to the General-in-Chief
of the army of invasion.”
“And what then, sir?” said Edith, almost fiercely. “Do
you hold me responsible for the act of my friend? If so,
sir, according to etiquette, any further conferences should
be maintained by our mutual friends.”
“Exactly; that is precisely what I wish. And I desired
only an opportunity of intimating that the address I am to
place in the possession of my friend, has not yet been communicated
to me.”
This not only embarrassed Edith, but diverted her. She
had not thought of an assumed name; and the idea of being
engaged in an affair of honor, and with one of the military
profession, was, in her case, anything but a grave matter.
“You seem to hesitate,” said the officer; “and, to be
sure, in times like these, one may have a motive for concealing
his real name. But any cognomen will answer—
pray choose any that may suit your fancy; one is just as
good as another to fight under.”
“Sir,” said Edith, weary of his presence, “you say you
are an officer; an officer ought to be a gentleman—
and—”
“I will finish the sentence,” said he, in a low voice, “a
gentleman should not quarrel with a lady!”
Edith's face was now crimsoned with anger.
“Sir,” said she, “if what you seem to suspect be true,
and the sentence be correctly concluded, what am I to
think of the one who, admitting such conclusions, and supposing
he addresses a lady, still persists in his offensive
demeanor?”
“Excuse me, I pray, Miss Langdon,” said he, with apparent
seriousness; “but fearing one in your unprotected
condition might, in a time like the present, be subjected to
rudeness, if not liable to injury, I have been sent here for
the purpose of warding off any danger that might menace
the daughter of the friend of my General.”
“I am to suppose, then, that your General detached you
on this service?”
“You have rightly conjectured,” said he, bowing; “and
I am happy to inform you that the General himself is now
entering the door.”
This was true. Edith turned, and cast an offended look
at the General.
“I saw your note at the old grandame's,” said Ruffleton,
bowing familiarly, “and I deemed it my duty to assist in
restoring you to your father. These are perilous times,
Miss Langdon,” said he, in an under tone; “and I should
have been censurable if I had not taken some pains to mitigate
your unhappiness.”
“I know not what thanks to express, sir, for the pains
thus endured on my account—and will not attempt any,
since I should consider myself meriting any disparaging
estimate you might be pleased to form of my understanding,
or sense of maidenly behavior, if I did not resent the
unworthy stratagem resorted to for the production of this
interview. Sir, can you be ignorant that my father is at
this moment in my immediate vicinity?”
“You do me great injustice, Edith, by such suspicions.
I am aware that your father is in the city. He has just
requested me to conduct you to his hotel.”
“General Ruffleton! Is this so?”
“Upon my honor.”
Edith mused in silence. The hope that Ruffleton's words
were true, had but a momentary existence. The design he
had conceived, must have been antecedent to the interview
with her father, if indeed they had met at all. Believing
herself now reduced to a desperate strait, she resolved to
dissemble.
“General,” said she, with an assumed gladness, “I will
go to my father immediately. But I must see the landlord
first. He is now in the hall. Excuse me a moment.”
Then approaching the host, she asked him if he was not
Willy'd friend.
“Yes, indeed, to the death!” said he. “I owe him more
than I'll mention—but enough to—”
“Did he not say he was my friend?”
“He did. And I promised to do anything you desired.”
“Then show me how I may get away from those men in
the parlor.”
“If you can run fast, you might slip round the corner
into Market street. It is getting dark, and you could hide.
I will go in where they are and lock the door after me.
I'll drop the key, and be long enough finding it to let you
run a whole square. Go!”
And poor Edith sprang into the street, and ran, she
knew not whither.
