Special Messenger. Chambers Robert William

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СКАЧАТЬ as though furrowed by a sudden wind; and watching calmly, her lips whispered on, following the quaint rhythm:

      “And yet no sooner shall the Spring awake

      The voice of wood and brake

      Than she shall rouse—for all her tranquil charms—

      A million men to arms.”

      The willow tops were tossing violently. She watched them, murmuring:

      “Oh! standing on this desecrated mold,

      Methinks that I behold,

      Lifting her bloody daisies up to God,

      Spring—kneeling on the sod,

      And calling with the voice of all her rills

      Upon the ancient hills

      To fall and crush the tyrants and the slaves

      Who turn her meads to graves.”

      Her whisper ceased; she sat, lips parted, eyes fastened on the willows. Suddenly a horseman broke through the thicket, then another, another, carbines slung, sabres jingling, rider following rider at a canter, sitting their horses superbly—the graceful, reckless, matchless cavalry under whose glittering gray curtain the most magnificent army that the South ever saw was moving straight into the heart of the Union.

      Fascinated, she watched an officer dismount, advance to the house, enter the open doorway, and disappear. Minute after minute passed; the troopers quietly sat their saddles; the frightened chickens ventured back, roaming curiously about these strange horses that stood there stamping, whisking their tails, tossing impatient heads in the sunshine.

      Presently the officer reappeared and walked straight to the barn, a trooper dismounting to follow him. They remained in the barn for a few moments only, then hurried out again, heads raised, scanning the low circling hills. Ah! Now they caught sight of her! She saw the officer come swinging up the hillside, buttons, spurs, and sword hilt glittering in the sun; she watched his coming with a calm almost terrible in its breathless concentration. Nearer, nearer he came, mounting the easy slope with a quick, boyish swing; and now he had halted, slouch hat aloft; and she heard his pleasant, youthful voice:

      “I reckon you haven’t seen a stranger pass this way, ma’am, have you?”

      “There was a lady came last night,” she answered innocently.

      “That’s the one!” he said, in his quick, eager voice. “Can you tell me where she went?”

      “She said she was going west.”

      “Has she gone?”

      “She left the house when I did,” answered the girl simply.

      “Riding!” he exclaimed. “She came on a hoss, I reckon?”

      “Yes.”

      “And she rode west?”

      “I saw her going west,” she nodded, resuming her knitting.

      The officer turned toward the troopers below, drew out a handkerchief and whipped the air with it for a second or two, then made a sweeping motion with his arm, and drawing his sabre struck it downward four times.

      Instantly the knot of troopers fell apart, scattering out and spurring westward in diverging lines; the officer watched them until the last horse had disappeared, then he lazily sheathed his sabre, unbuckled a field glass, adjusted it, and seated himself on the grass beside her.

      “Have you lived here long?” he asked pleasantly, setting the glass to his eye and carefully readjusting the lens.

      “No.”

      “Your father is living, is he not?”

      She did not reply.

      “I reckon Gilson’s command met him a piece back in the scrub, driving a wagon and a fine horse.”

      She said nothing; her steady fingers worked the needles, and presently he heard her softly counting the stitches as she turned the heel.

      “He said we’d find his ‘Cynthy’ here,” observed the youthful officer, lowering his glass. “Are you Cynthia Gray, ma’am?”

      “He named me Cynthia,” she said, with a smile.

      He plucked a blade of grass, and placing it between his white teeth, gazed at her so steadily that she dropped a stitch, recovered it, and presently he saw her lips resuming the silent count. He reseated himself on the grass, laying his field glass beside him.

      “I reckon your folk are all Yankee,” he ventured softly.

      She nodded.

      “Are you afraid of us? Do you hate us, ma’am?”

      She shook her head, stealing a glance at him from her lovely eyes. If that was part of her profession, she had learned it well; for he laughed and stretched out, resting easily on one elbow, looking up at her admiringly under her faded sunbonnet.

      “Are you ever lonely here?” he inquired gravely.

      Again her dark eyes rested on him shyly, but she shook her head in silence.

      “Never lonely without anybody to talk to?” he persisted, removing his slouched army hat and passing his hands over his forehead.

      “What have I to say to anybody?” she asked coquettishly.

      A little breeze sprang up, stirring his curly hair and fluttering the dangling strings of her sunbonnet. He lay at full length there, a slender, athletic figure in his faded gray uniform, idly pulling the grass up to twist and braid into a thin green rope.

      The strange exhilaration that danger had brought had now subsided; she glanced at him indifferently, noting the well-shaped head, the boyish outlines of face and figure. He was no older than she—and not very wise for his years.

      Presently, very far away, the dulled report of a carbine sounded, stirring a deadened echo among the hills.

      “What’s that?” she exclaimed.

      “Yank, I reckon,” he drawled, rising to his feet and fixing his field glass steadily on the hills beyond.

      “Are you going to have a battle here?” she asked.

      He laughed. “Oh, no, Miss Cynthia. That’s only bushwhacking.”

      “But—but where are they shooting?”

      He pointed to the west. “There’s Yankee cavalry loafing in the hills. I reckon we’ll gobble ’em, too. But don’t you worry, Miss Cynthia,” he added gallantly. “I shall be here to-night, and by sunrise there won’t be a soldier within ten miles of you.”

      “Within ten miles,” she murmured; “ten miles is too near. I—I think I will go back to the house.”

      He looked down at her; she raised her dark eyes to him; then he bowed and gallantly held out both hands, and she laid her hands in his, suffering him to lift her to her feet.

      The brief contact set the color mounting to his sunburnt temples; it had been a long while since he had touched a young girl’s hand.

      “I СКАЧАТЬ