"Miss Lou". Edward Payson Roe
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were questions which pressed for an immediate answer. She possessed a temperament which warned her imperatively against this hasty marriage, nor was there any hesitancy in her belief that it would blight her young life beyond remedy. She was not one to moan or weep helplessly very long, however, and the first gust of passion and grief having passed, her mind began to clear and face the situation. Looking out of her window, she saw that her cousin and his men were mounted and were about to ride away again. Having waited till they had disappeared, she bathed her eyes and then descended to her uncle.
"Where has Lieutenant Whately gone?" she asked.
"Your cousin does not forget, even at such a time, that he is a soldier, and he is scouting the country far and wide. Moreover, it is his intention to ask the Rev. Dr. Williams to be here to-morrow evening, and a few friends also. I trust that by that time your perverse mood will pass away, and that you will unite with your kindred in their efforts in your behalf."
"Is there no use of reasoning with you, uncle—no use of pleading with you?"
Perkins stood in the door and knocked to announce his presence.
"Well, what is it?" asked Mr. Baron, nervously.
"Have you heard anything, sir?"
"Good heavens, no! Heard what?"
"Well, sir, I dunno. The field-hands are buzzing like bees, en I kyant get nothin' out of 'em."
"Well, Perkins, be watchful. Do your best. God only knows what's coming. You are well armed, I suppose?"
"You may reckon that, sir, en I'll use 'em too, ef need be. The hands are cute, mighty cute. I kyant lay my finger on any one in particular, but they're all a sort of bilin' up with 'citement."
"Best to stay among them and be stern and vigilant." When Perkins withdrew Mr. Baron said to his niece with strong emotion, "You see we are beset with danger, and you talk of reasoning and pleading against my best efforts for your safety. There! I'm too harassed, too overwhelmed with weighty subjects for consideration, to discuss this matter further. I must give my attention to securing some papers of vital importance."
Miss Lou departed with the feeling that dangers were thickening on every hand, and that she was only one of the causes for anxiety in her uncle's mind. She knew it would be useless to say anything to her aunt; and with a longing for a little sympathy and advice, she resolved on another visit to her old mammy, Aun' Jinkey.
The Union soldier had a remote place in the background of her thoughts, and yet she felt that it was preposterous to hope for anything from him.
CHAPTER VIII
"WHEN?"
The vigilant eyes and constant demands of her mistress prevented Zany from giving Chunk more than a few significant hints, but he was quick to comprehend the situation. When he saw Miss Lou bending her steps toward his granny's cottage, he thanked his stars that the garden was in that direction also, and soon apparently was very busy at a good point from which to observe the cabin. In view of the approaching wedding Mrs. Baron had given Aun' Jinkey much to do, and she was busily ironing when Miss Lou again stood within the door. The old woman's fears had been so greatly aroused that she had insisted that Scoville should remain in the loft. "Folks 'll be comin' en gwine all the eb'nin', en ole miss hersef mout step dis away."
At the same time her heart ached for the young girl. At sight of the sweet, troubled face the faithful creature just dropped into a chair, and throwing her apron over her head, rocked back and forth, moaning "You po' chile, you po' chile!"
"Yes, mammy," cried Miss Lou, forgetting for the moment that a stranger was within hearing. "I'm in desperate straits, and I don't know what to do."
The trap-door was lifted instantly, and Scoville was about to descend.
"You mustn't do dat!" exclaimed Aun' Jinkey. "We's all in mis'ry anuff now."
"I hope that in no sense I am the cause of it," said Scoville, earnestly.
"Oh, no," replied Miss Lou, wiping her eyes hastily, "not directly.
Pardon me, I forgot for the moment that you were here. My trouble is
with my family, and you have nothing to do with it except as you
Yankees are coming South and making trouble of every kind."
"Well, Miss Baron," said the scout, regarding her sympathetically through the open door, "it is too late to talk about our coming South. Isn't there something I can do for you, to show my gratitude and good-will?"
"Oh, no, indeed!"
"De bes' ting you kin do, Marse Scoville, is ter shet dat do' an' kep still; den git back ter yo' folks soon ez you kin trabble. We uns got des ez much ez we kin stan' up un'er, en ef dey foun' you yere, hit ud be de worl' comin' ter smash."
"If Miss Baron would tell me her trouble, she might find that I am not so powerless to help as I seem. Since she has done so much for me, I have a certain kind of right to do what I can in return."
"You forget, sir, that we are strangers and aliens."
"No one is an alien to me from whom I am accepting life and safety," and his glance was so kind and friendly that, in her dire extremity, she was induced to ask a question.
"If you feel that you owe anything to me," she said, hesitatingly, "tell me truly, if your people came to this plantation, would our home be burned and we all be in danger of insult and death?"
"Is that all you fear?" he asked, smiling.
"But answer me on your word and honor."
"No, Miss Baron, not from our regular troops. There are vile wretches connected with all armies, on your side as well as ours, who act without orders or any control except their lawless will. If you and your friends are tortured by the fear of Northern soldiers, should they come this way, you may set your mind comparatively at rest. I must add, however, that our troops have to live off the country, and so take food for man and beast. They also help themselves to better horses when they find them. I have told you the truth. Why, believe me, Miss Baron, I would defend you with my life against any one."
"Oh, dear!" cried the girl, with another rush of tears, "my uncle believes that our house will be burned and we all murdered, and they are going to marry me to my cousin against my will, so that he can take me to a place of safety."
"When?" asked Scoville, excitedly.
"To-morrow evening."
Aun' Jinkey in her trepidation had stepped to the door, and there, sure enough, was Mrs. Baron coming down the path with her hand full of crumpled muslins. She had appeared so silently and suddenly before Chunk that he had started and stared at her. When he tried to edge off toward the cabin, she had said, sharply, "Keep at your work. What is the matter with you? I reckon your granny is smoking instead of doing my work," and she hastened her steps to surprise the supposed delinquent.
Entering the cabin, she saw only Aun' Jinkey ironing, and her niece sitting with her handkerchief to her face. "Ah!" said the old lady to her laundress, "I'm glad you realize the importance of doing my work when it's needed." Then followed a few brief directions in regard to the articles she had brought. "Louise, I wish you to come with me. This is no place for you," concluded Mrs. Baron, turning to depart.
The girl rose and followed submissively, for she was overwhelmed by a confused sense of danger, not merely to the Union soldier, but also to her old mammy, who was sheltering him. The extremity of her fears and the fact that Chunk had not come to warn them led her to dread that her aunt's suspicions were already aroused. Chunk gave her a very anxious look as she passed, but she only shook her head slightly, as much as to say, "I don't know."
The negro's elation and confidence now passed utterly;