University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.
WHAT FOLLOWED.

There was a bright light in the sitting room, and through
the half-closed shutters Hugh caught glimpses of a blazing
fire. 'Lina had come home, and half wishing she had
staid a little longer, Hugh entered the room, starting with
an exclamation of surprise at the sight which met his view.
Divested of her gorgeous apparel, her ample dimensions
considerably reduced, and her face indicative of her feelings,
'Lina stood upon the hearth, wringing her long black
hair, which hung loosely about her shoulders, while her
mother bent with deep concern over the mud-bespattered,
ruined dress, which had cost so much.

Poor 'Lina! The party had proved a most unsatisfactory
affair. She had not made the sensation she expected
to make. Harney had scarcely noticed her at all,
having neither eyes nor ears for any one save Ellen Tiffton,
who surely must have told that Hugh was not invited, for,
in no other way could 'Lina account for the remark she
heard touching her want of heart in failing to resent a
brother's insult. Added to this, it was very annoying to be
quizzed, as she was, concerning Adah, of whom everybody

seemed resolved to talk. In the most unenviable of
moods, 'Lina left at an early hour, and though Harney did
accompany her to the carriage, saying something about being
sorry that she should go so soon when he meant to see
more of her, it did not atone for his past neglect or for his
holding the umbrella so that the little greenish streams of
water dripped directly down her back, making her fidget
with terror lest her rose-colored dress should be soiled.
Coolly bidding him good night, she bade Cæsar drive carefully,
as it was very dark, and the rain was almost blinding,
so rapidly it fell.

“Ye-es, Mis-s, Cæs — he — he done been to party fore
now. Git 'long dar, Sorrel,” hiccoughed the negro, who,
in Colonel Tiffton's kitchen had indulged rather too freely
to insure the safety of his mistress.

Still the horses knew the road, and kept it until they
left the main highway and turned into the fields. Even
then they would probably have made their way in safety,
had not their drunken driver persisted in turning them into
a road which led directly through the deepest part of the
creek, swollen now by the melted snow and the vast
amount of rain which had fallen since the sun-setting,
Not knowing they were wrong, 'Lina did not dream of
danger until she heard Cæsar's cry of “Who'a dar, Sorrel.
Git up, Henry. Dat's nothin' but de creek,” while
a violent lurch of the carriage sent her to the opposite side
from where she had been sitting.

“What is the matter, Cæsar? Where are we?” she
screamed, as she heard the waters splashing almost against
the windows.

“Lor', Miss, I do' know whar we is, 'cept we're in
the river. I never seen no creek so high as this,” was the
frightened negro's answer as he tried to extricate the noble
brutes floundering in the stream and struggling to reach
the opposite bank.

A few mad plunges, another wrench, which pitched

'Lina headlong against the window, and the steep, shelving
bank was reached, but in endeavoring to climb it the
carriage was upset, and 'Lina found herself in pitchy
darkness, her mouth and nostrils filled with the soft mud,
which, at first, prevented her screaming, and herself wet
to her neck with the rushing water. Perfectly sobered
now, Cæsar extricated her as soon as possible, and carrying
her up the bank placed her upon her fect beneath a
tree, whose leafless branches but poorly shielded her from
the rain. The carriage was broken — one wheel was off
entirely, he said, and thus there was no alternative save
for 'Lina to walk the remaining distance home. It was
not far, for the scene of the disaster was within sight of
Spring Bank, but to 'Lina, bedraggled with mud and wet
to the skin, it seemed an interminable distance, and her
strength was giving out just as she reached the piazza, and
called on her mother for help, sobbing hysterically as she
repeated her story, but dwelling most upon her ruined
dress.

“What will Hugh say? It was not paid for either.
Oh dear, I most wish I was dead!” she moaned, as her
mother removed one by one the saturated garments.

The sight of Hugh called forth her grief afresh, and
forgetful of her dishabille, she staggered toward him, and
impulsively winding her arms around his neck sobbed
out,

“Oh, Hugh, I've had such a doleful time. I've been
in the creek, the carriage is broken, the horses are lamed,
Cæsar is drunk, and — and — oh, Hugh, I've spoiled my
dress!”

The last came gaspingly, as if this were the straw too
many, the crowning climax of the whole, the loss which
'Lina most deplored. Surely here was a list of disasters
for which Hugh, with his other trouble, was not prepared.
But amid it all there was a glimmer of light, and Hugh's
great, warm heart seized it eagerly. 'Lina's arms were

round his neck, 'Lina's tears were on his cheek, 'Lina herself
had turned to him for comfort, and he would not
withhold it. Laughing merrily he held her off at a little
distance, likening her to a mermaid fresh from the sea,
and succeeding at last in quieting her until she could give
a more concise account of the catastrophe.

“Never mind the dress,” he said, good humoredly, as
she kept recurring to that. “It isn't as if it were new.
An old thing is never so valuable.”

“Yes; but, Hugh — you don't know — oh, dear, dear,”
and 'Lina, who had meant to tell the whole, broke down
again, while Hugh rejoined,

“Of course I don't know — just how a girl feels to
spoil a pretty dress, but I wouldn't cry so hard. You
shall have another some time,” and in his generous heart
the thought arose, that the first money he got should be
appropriated to the purchase of a new dress in place of
the one whose loss 'Lina so loudly bewailed.

It was impossible now for Mrs. Worthington to accompany
Hugh to the cottage, so he returned alone, while
'Lina, with aching head and shivering limbs, crept into
bed, crying herself to sleep, and waking in the morning
with a burning fever, scarcely less severe than that raging
in Adah Hastings' veins.

During the gloomy weeks which followed, Hugh's heart
and hands were full, inclination tempting him to stay by
Adah, and stern duty, bidding him keep with 'Lina, who,
strange to say, was always more quiet when he was near,
taking readily from him the medicine refused when offered
by her mother. Day after day, week after week, Hugh
watched alternately at their bedsides, and those who came
to offer help felt their hearts glow with admiration for the
worn, haggard man, whose character they had so mistaken,
never dreaming what depths of patient, all-enduring
tenderness were hidden beneath his rough exterior. Even
Ellen Tiffton was softened, and forgetting the Ladies

Fair, rode daily over to Spring Bank, ostensibly to inquire
after 'Lina, but really to speak a kindly word to Hugh, to
whom she felt she had done a wrong. How long these
fevers ran, and Hugh began to fear that 'Lina's never
would abate, sorrowing much for the harsh words which
passed between them, wishing they had been unsaid, for
he would rather than none but pleasant memories should
be left to him of his only sister. But 'Lina did not die,
and as her disease had from the first assumed a far more
violent form than Adah's, so it was the first to yield, and
February found her convalescent. With Adah it was
different, and the neighbors grew tired of asking how she
was and receiving always the same doubtful answer. But
there came a change, a morning when she awoke from the
deathlike stupor which had clouded her faculties so long,
and the attending physician said to Hugh that his services
would be needed but a little longer. There was joy at
the cottage then, old Uncle Sam stealing away to his
accustomed place of prayer down by the Willow Spring,
where he so oft had asked that Miss Adah might be
spared, and where now he knelt to thank the God who
had restored her. Joy at Spring Bank, too, when Mrs.
Worthington wept tears almost as joyful as any she had
shed when told that 'Lina would live. Joy, too, unobtrusive
joy in Hugh's heart, a joy which would not be clouded by
thoughts of the heavy bills which he must meet ere long.
Physicians' bills, together with that of Harney's yet
unpaid, for Harney, villain though he was, would not
present it when Hugh was full of trouble; but the hour
was coming when it must be settled, and Hugh at last received
a note, couched in courteous terms, but urging
immediate payment.

“I'll see him to-day. I'll know the worst at once,”
he said, and mounting Rocket, he dashed down the
Frankfort turnpike, and was soon closeted with Harney