University of Virginia Library

36. CHAPTER XXXVI.

The next morning, when the prisoners were mustered
for departure, Thomas Darley was nowhere to be found.

Inquiries and search were of no avail, and the train
finally started without him.

That afternoon Colonel Blank was informed, by his
orderly, that the vivandière requested an interview with him.

“Show her in, Reynolds, immediately. Well, Miss
Dora, so you have come to see me. Take a seat.”

“Can I see you alone, sir?” asked Dora, timidly, as
she glanced at one or two officers, who were looking at
a map upon the table.

“Certainly. Come into this room,” said the colonel,
in some surprise, as he raised the flap of the adjoining
tent.

“What is it, my dear,” continued he, kindly, seeing
that the vivandière, pale and agitated, could hardly bring
herself to speak.

“Colonel Blank, I have done something wrong, and I
have come to tell you of it.”

“I am very sorry for that, Dora,” said the colonel,

gravely, as he placed her upon a seat, and took one himself.
“What is your offence?”

“I gave my brother the countersign last night, and I
helped him to escape from the hospital.”

“You did?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dora, I could not have believed you guilty of such
teachery,” said the colonel, very severely.

“He was my brother, sir. My mother told us to hold
together. He would have died if he had gone to prison.”

“If we had known there was a traitor in the camp,
we might have guarded against this. How did you get
the countersign?”

“I heard one of the men tell another, when I was
coming home last night.”

“You probably asked it of him.”

“I am not a liar, sir.”

“I am not so sure of that, after what you tell me,”
said the colonel, harshly.

“That is because you don't know me, sir,” replied
Dora, with quiet pride.

“I find, indeed, that I do not know you. I thought
you were to be trusted anywhere, and with any charge.
I find I have mistaken you entirely.

“Why have you come here now?” continued he, after
a pause, which Dora had not attempted to break.

“To tell you this, sir.”

“Of course. But why do you come to tell me?”

“That you might punish me in any way you think
best, sir.”

“Then you acknowledge yourself worthy of punishment?”

“Yes, sir; I intended to bear the penalty when I
did it.”

“What penalty?”

“I don't know, sir. Whatever you choose.”

The colonel paced the length of his tent a dozen times,
and then returned to look with a sort of angry relenting
at the culprit sitting so motionless, with drooping head
and folded hands.

“Where has your brother gone?” asked he.

“Out of the state, sir. He has made a solemn promise
never to fight on the rebel side again.”

“To whom?”

“To me, sir.”

“O, you paroled him — did you?”

“Yes, sir,” said Dora, simply.

“And why couldn't he wait, and be paroled by government,
or, at the worst, exchanged after a few
months?”

“He said it would kill him to be shut up in jail. He
has always lived such a free sort of life, I really think it
would. And he said he would kill himself before he
got there.”

“Poh!” said the colonel, contemptuously.

“You don't know Tom, sir, any more than you
do me. We never, either of us, say what we don't
mean.”

“Well, well. And where is he going, and what is he
going to do?”

“I can't tell anything more about it, sir. I told you
that, because I wanted you to know he isn't a rebel any
more. I wouldn't have let him go if he had been going
to fight against us ever again.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“Very sure, sir. I told him so.”

“Well, that makes a difference, to be sure. And you
think his word is to be depended on?”

“Yes, indeed, sir.”

“And does no one but you know anything about it?”
asked the colonel, sharply.

“If you please, sir, I can't answer any questions except
just about myself.”

“O, then it was a conspiracy!”

“It is I who am the one to be punished, sir.”

“You trust to my good nature. You think I won't
actually take any notice of your offence,” said the colonel,
suspiciously.

“No, sir; I expected you would be angrier than you
are, and punish me severely.”

“How?”

“I couldn't tell how. Perhaps I should be sent to
Columbus, to prison, in my brother's place.”

“You deserve it.”

“Very likely, sir.”

“I think I shall dismiss you from your appointment as
vivandière. Even though I may excuse you personally,
I should not do my duty as an officer to keep a convicted
spy and traitor in my camp.”

“Spy and traitor!” murmured Dora, in a tone of
horror.

“Certainly.”

“Not a spy, sir.”

“How did you overhear the countersign?”

“Accidentally, upon my word, sir.”

“Well, a traitor you certainly are, and you must
leave the regiment.”

“And will you tell the men I am a traitor and a
spy?” asked Dora, raising a face of agony to her stern
judge.

“Perhaps.”

“O, sir!”

“You said you could bear the penalty.”

“I can, sir. Where shall you send me?”

“I shall send you, Dora, to my own home in Ohio, to
the care of my wife. This offence of yours is unpardonable
in a vivandière, but in a warm-hearted little girl it is
easily orgiven. Do you understand me, Dora? You

must leave the regiment, but you shall be the daughter
of its colonel for the rest of your life. I have intended
this for some time.”

“But now, sir, when you have just called me those
dreadful names — ” faltered Dora.

“Perhaps I spoke a little more harshly than I felt,
Dora; and I repeat, the same qualities are not essential
in a young girl and an army official. I forgive you,
and I will conceal your fault from every one. I will not
even take measures to discover your accomplices, — for
you must have had them, — and I will love you and care
for you as a father, as long as you continue to deserve it.
Do you accept my offer?”

Had a bomb from Camp Baldwin exploded in his tent,
Colonel Blank could not have been more astonished than
by the answer of the vivandière.

“I thank you very, very much, sir; I do, indeed; but
I cannot accept.”

“Cannot accept! Upon my word, girl! And why,
pray?”

“Don't be angry, sir. I am not ungrateful, but Captain
Windsor's mother has sent for me to come and live
with her, and Mr. Brown wants very much that I should
go home with him.”

“And which are you going with?”

“I don't know, sir. I thought, if you was satisfied
with only sending me away, I would ask you to be so
kind as to advise me.”

“But, Dora, I want you myself, and I have written to
my wife to say that I should bring you when I came.”

“But the others asked me first, sir.”

“And you had rather go with them?”

“I know them better than I do you, sir,” faltered
Dora.

Again the colonel thoughtfully paced the tent. Returning,
he laid his hand on Dora's head.

“I am very sorry, indeed, my child,” said he, kindly,
“that I must give up this plan that I have thought so
much about; but I will try to be neither selfish nor tyrannical.
Go with whichever friend you really think will be
the best guardian for you; but remember that, as long as
I live, you are my adopted daughter, and I shall always
be ready to help or advise you.”

He offered her his hand, and Dora carried it to her
lips.

“You are so very, very kind, sir,” murmured she.

“Captain Windsor is going home on sick leave in the
course of a few days,” said the colonel, thoughtfully.
“You might go with him; or, if you decide to accept
Mr. Brown's invitation, I will stretch a point of discipline,
and retain you in your present office until our term
of service expires, which will not now be long. What do
you decide on doing?”

“May I go or stay, just as I please?”

“Yes, I said so.”

“Then, sir, I think I will go home with Captain
Karl, to take care of him on the journey, and while he is
sick. Then, when Mr. Brown goes home, if he wants
me, really and truly, as much as he said, I will go to
him, because he is all alone in the world, just like me,
and Captain Karl has his mother and sister.”

“Very sensible. But why did you ask first whether
you might go or stay, as you chose?”

“Because, sir,” said the vivandière, with quiet pride,
“if I had been sent away from here for a punishment, I
would not have gone to either of them.”

“Why not? You would have needed their protection
all the more.”

“Yes, sir; but I shouldn't feel right to go in that way.
I should feel as if they only took me out of pity, and as
if, perhaps, they wouldn't have, if I had had any other
home.”

“And what would you have done in that case?”

“I should have taken Picter, and gone to the North
by myself, looking for my aunt,” said Dora, confidently.

Colonel Blank looked at the child with mingled admiration
and regret.

“I am sorry you won't say no to both of them, and
come home with me,” said he. “You are a very odd
girl, with your childish simplicity and your womanly
self-respect. You know so little of the world, and yet
are so fearless of confronting it!”

“I am not afraid, because nobody has ever tried to
harm me.”

“Well, my child, go and think over your plans a little,
not forgetting that my own offer remains open to you;
and whatever you decide upon, I shall give you every
assistance in my power in carrying it out.”

“Thank you, sir, very much indeed. Good morning.”

“Good morning, Dora Darling.”