Lewis Rand. Mary Johnston

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СКАЧАТЬ God sees the gold."

      "Won't you tell me a story?" demanded Deb. "Tell me about the time when you were a little girl and you used to stay at Cousin Jane Selden's. And about the poor boy who lived on the next place—and the apple tree and the little stream where you played, and the mockingbird he gave you. And how his father was a cruel man, and you cried because he had to work so hard all day in the hot fields. You haven't told me that story for a long time."

      "I have forgotten it, Deb."

      "Then tell me about summer before last, when you were at Cousin Jane Selden's again, and you were grown, and you saw the poor boy again—only he was a man—and his father was dead, and he talked to you in Cousin Jane Selden's flower garden. You never told me that story but once."

      "I have forgotten that one too."

      "Why does your breath come long like that, Jacqueline? I have gotten my feet wet. Will you tell Mammy Chloe not to whip Miranda? Here is Uncle Edward!"

      Major Edward Churchill entered from the garden, for which he had an attachment almost comparable to his love for the old Fontenoy library and the Fontenoy stables. He was a gentleman of the old school, slight, withered, high-nosed and hawk-eyed, dressed with precision and carrying an empty sleeve. The arm he had lost at Yorktown; a temper too hot to hold he daily lost, but he had the art to keep his friends. There were duels to his account, as well as a reputation for great courage and coolness during the late war. Under the name of Horatius he contributed to The Virginia Federalist diatribes of a polished ferocity against the Democrat-Republicans and their chief, and he owned Mustapha, the noblest race-horse of the day. He was a bachelor, a member of the Cincinnati, a Black Cockade, a friend of Alexander Hamilton, a scholar, and a sceptic; a proud, high, fiery man, who had watched at the death-bed of many things. He made his home with his brother, the master of Fontenoy; and his niece Jacqueline, the daughter of a younger, long dead brother, was to him youth, colour, music, and romance.

      "The moss-rose is in bloom," he announced, standing in the parlour door. "Come see it, Jacqueline."

      They went out into the garden and stood before the moss-rose bush. "Oh, beautiful!" exclaimed Jacqueline, and touched the rose with her lips. It was sunny in the garden, and the box smelled strong and sweet. The Major plucked a sprig and studied it as though box were a rarity. "I have found," he said, "Ludwell Cary's visit highly agreeable. He has come home to Virginia as likely a man as one could find in a summer day. He adorns the state. I predict for him a long and successful career."

      "Yes, indeed," assented Jacqueline. "I like him very much. How well he talks! And travel has not made him forget the old days here."

      The Major plucked another sprig of box. "In the old days, my dear, your father and your Uncle Dick and I used to plan—well, well, castles in Spain! castles in Spain! But he's a handsome fellow!"

      "He is indeed," said Jacqueline. "His eyes are especially fine. I like that clear grey—frank and kind."

      "He has sense and principle—he has mind."

      "That is evident," answered his niece. "He does everything admirably. Last night after supper he read to Unity and me. He reads extremely well. The book was the Death of Wallenstein. He made me see that murder! My heart stood still."

      "He is to be admired for standing up to-day against that damned demagogue, Lewis Rand! No matter if he is defeated. Every gentleman applauds him. You women adore victory, but let me tell you, a vanquished Federalist is still the conqueror of any ranting Republican!"

      "Did I tell you," asked Jacqueline, "that Mr. Pincornet holds the dancing class at Fontenoy this week?"

      "The dancing class be damned! Ludwell Cary is a man and a gentleman, Jacqueline—"

      "Yes," said Jacqueline.

      The Major threw away his sprig of box. "The Sphinx was a woman, and every woman is an incarnate riddle! Why don't you care for him, Jacqueline?"

      "I do care for him. I like him very much."

      "Pshaw!" said the Major irritably. "Don't look at that rose any longer! It's cankered! And it's time that Dick and I were off. We vote—" he put his shapely, nervous hand upon his niece's shoulder—"we vote, Jacqueline, for Ludwell Cary."

      "Yes, uncle," said Jacqueline. "I know—I know."

      Colonel Dick Churchill, large and beaming, and Major Edward Churchill, thin and saturnine, rode away, and from between the white pillars Deb and Jacqueline watched them go. Colonel Dick's wife was an invalid, and lay always in the cool and spacious "chamber," between dimity bed curtains, with her key basket on the counterpane.

      "Jacqueline," said Deb, "whom do you vote for?"

      "Women do not vote, honey."

      "But if you did vote, Jacqueline?"

      "Do you remember," asked Jacqueline, "how Lady Mary Wortley Montagu offended Mr. Alexander Pope?"

      "Ah," said Deb. "I'm little, and I ask questions, but I'm not crooked! Will Mr. Lewis Rand ever come to Fontenoy, Jacqueline?"

      "You are going to wear your blue gown to the dancing class," said Jacqueline. "Unity is going to wear her yellow jaconet, and I shall wear white. I will make you a wreath of syringa like stars. And you may wear your gloves."

      "Oh-h!" breathed Deb. "And my cornelian ring—and the flowered scarf—and—and your fan, Jacqueline?"

      "Yes," said Jacqueline. "I am tired this morning, Deb. The sunlight is so strong. I think I'll go darken my room, and lie down upon my bed."

      "Does your head ache?"

      "Yes, my head," said Jacqueline, and went into the house.

CHAPTER IV

       Table of Contents

THE TWO CANDIDATES

       Table of Contents

      The town, established forty years before this April morning, had been named for a Princess of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, lately become Queen of England. During the Revolution it had been the scene of a raid of Tarleton's and a camp of detention for British prisoners. It was the county seat to which three successive presidents of the United States must travel to cast their votes; and somewhat later than the period of this story it was to rub elbows with a great institution of learning. No city even in our own time, it was, a hundred years ago, slight enough in size to suit the genius for tempered solitude characteristic of a tobacco-growing State.

      A few dwelling-houses of frame and brick rose from an emerald mist of gardens, and there were taverns, much at the service of all who came to town with money in their purse. The Swan allured the gentlefolk of the county, the coach-and-four people, Jehus of light curricles, and riders of blooded horses. The Eagle had the stage-coach patronage, and thrice a week blew a lusty horn. Besides the inns and the dwelling-houses there were stores and a half-built church, the Court House, and the shady Court House yard.

      For a great part of the СКАЧАТЬ