Kitty's Conquest

"And that was the service your people rendered him, was it? You could have rendered his people a much better one by telling the truth and 'jailing him,' as you say. What had he been doing to set the marshal on his track?"

Hank looked suspiciously at me a moment. He was apparently ready to make a clean breast of matters to Harrod, but I was one of a class he regarded with distrust. Seeing this, Harrod glanced significantly at me, and I withdrew, leaving them to work out their own conclusions.

Strolling up to headquarters and thence over to Amory's, I found him sleeping quietly and Parker reading the newspapers at his bedside. An enlivening conversation was not to be looked for in that quarter therefore, and on my speaking to Parker about a room for Mrs. Amory, who was to arrive on the following day, he replied that he had already secured one close at hand. This again left me with nothing especial to do, and in my loneliness and lack of occupation I went down to Royal Street, and came luckily upon a cheerful gathering at Newhall's, as we had learned to speak of the house wherein our Sandbrook party were quartered.

It was a still, balmy evening, and Vinton's sofa had been trundled into the sitting-room. He lay there looking rather gaunt and white, but unutterably happy, for in a low chair by his side Miss Summers was seated, and she had evidently been reading aloud before my entrance, for a little blue-and-gold volume of Tennyson lay in her lap. Harrod and Kitty were seated at the centre-table near them, and rose to greet me as I entered, but the moment she had given me her little hand, with a rather embarrassed greeting, and I went forward to Vinton's sofa, Miss Kitty dropped back to the dim light of a distant corner. I had barely time to congratulate the major on his convalescence when he inquired eagerly for Amory.

"I have just come from him," I answered. "He was sleeping quietly, and Mr. Parker was there with him. He will be all right now in a day or two. Mrs. Amory will be here to-morrow, as you doubtless know, and Parker has taken a room for her at Madame R – 's, close to headquarters."

For some moments we four sat there talking quietly about her coming and its probable benefit to Amory's health, which certainly had been suffering of late. Kitty still sat in her corner, apparently occupied with a magazine, though it was too dark to read at that distance from the lamp. Vinton, of course, was eager to hear all the particulars of the recent excitements, however, and after a few moments he asked to be fully informed.

"Yes, Brandon, tell him the whole thing. Do not spare Peyton. Do not imagine that it will shock Pauline, for I have told her all about it. Indeed, I may as well take the lead," said Harrod, "and give you briefly what Smith confessed to me to-day. It was Peyton who planned and led that ambuscade on Amory's command. He ordered his party to try and pick off Amory himself, and but for the darkness they probably would have killed him. The fellow is a scoundrel throughout, and I'm almost sorry he has escaped now. Smith says he has undoubtedly gone to Mexico, and most of the money with him. Now, Brandon, tell us your story."

There was a rustle of skirts at the other end of the room. Pauline glanced wistfully over to Kitty's corner, and I could not help looking thither myself. Without a word the little lady had risen and left the room.

Pauline rose hurriedly. "I must go to Kitty," she said. "She has been very much distressed about all this trouble of late, and she will worry herself to death." With that she, too, was gone; and Mr. Brandon, bereft of his feminine audience, told his story with far less interest and enjoyment than he would otherwise have felt. Vinton was deeply interested, however, and greatly concerned over Amory's adventure. It was some time before Miss Summers' return, and then she brought Kitty's excuses. The latter had been persuaded finally to go to bed, for she was shocked inexpressibly at hearing that Peyton had really had the hardihood to carry out the threat of that memorable day at Sandbrook. "And more than that, she is convinced that Peyton has been striving to harm Mr. Amory here in New Orleans, and I had to promise that she should know the whole truth. Is it so, Mr. Brandon?"

And once more Mr. Brandon had the gratification of relating that episode, and before another day poor Kitty was in possession of all the facts.

And yet when I met her the following afternoon her eyes were bright; her color heightened; her manner animated and almost gay. "So glad uncle was coming," was her explanation, and yet – she did not care to go to the station with Harrod, Pauline, and myself to meet uncle. This struck me as strange, and I ventured to urge her to accompany us.

"Oh, no! the carriage only holds four," was her reply.

"But you will make the fourth, and you know I'm not coming back. I'm going to drive Mrs. Amory up to see her boy at once. He's sitting up in state ready to welcome her, and we had some difficulty in persuading him that he must not attempt to leave the house. You see there is abundant room, little lady, so why not come?"

"Thanks, I think not; I'm not ready to drive," was her confused answer; and yet I saw that she had been out. Her hat and gloves lay there upon the table. Her costume was perfect – and so was her determination.

The carriage came and we drove off, leaving her smiling and kissing her hand gayly from the balcony above our heads. Pauline glanced back lovingly at her as we turned the corner.

"Isn't she exquisite?" she said to Harrod, whose eyes, too, were fixed upon the fairy-like little figure until 'twas hidden from our sight.

"Yes, and utterly incomprehensible. Last night she was in the depths of misery when she heard about Peyton's connection with that rascally business last December. Long after the rest of us had gone to bed, Pauline went in and told her the whole story of your night adventure and Peyton's further rascality, and, by Jove! it acted like a counter-irritant. She has been in a whirl of spirits all morning; but, Paulie, she should not rush out on the streets by herself. She was out nearly half an hour awhile ago."

"Not out of sight, Harrod. I had her in view from the balcony."

"What on earth could she find to do down on Royal Street for nearly half an hour without going out of sight?"

Pauline smiled demurely. "Merely making some purchases at the corner, I fancy."

"At the corner? Why, it's a cigar store."

"I did not say in the corner, M. le colonel. Kitty is fond of oranges."

"Then it took half an hour to buy half a dozen oranges of that old Dago at the fruit-stand, did it? Still, that does not account for her blithe spirits. One would think that having sent one adorer away heart-broken; and another having vanished in disgrace (though that was but a boy and girl affair), and a third laid up as the result of the second's rascality; a girl might be expected to suffer some pangs of remorse. I declare I believe some women have no more conscience than kittens, and our Kitty is one of them," said Harrod, half wrathfully.

A moment's silence, then, —

"Well, why should she not want to come and meet the judge?" I asked, with blundering persistency.

"And why should she be bright as a button this afternoon?" demanded Harrod.

Pauline smiled with conscious superiority. "I can understand it readily, and am really surprised that you two profound thinkers should be so utterly in the dark. I'm not going to betray her, however; you ought to be able to see through it yourselves." And that silenced me completely. I record it with absolute humility that not until days afterwards was it made clear to me that when Pauline told Kitty the story of Amory's night-ride, the latter was able to account for the first time for his extraordinary conduct at Moreau's and the theatre; more than that, the child then knew what it was that had brought him in the dead of night to take one look at her window before going out to meet Peyton. As for her refusal to go to the depot, she simply felt unable to meet in that way Frank Amory's mother.

The train came in on time. Harrod sprang aboard, and in another moment emerged from the Pullman escorting his gray-haired father, and with them appeared the pale, placid face I had so admired in the picture at Amory's tent. Dressed in black, though not in deep mourning, the gentle lady stepped from the car, and Miss Summers, who had extended her right hand, gave one swift glance in the peaceful eyes, then suddenly, impulsively, threw forward both; and Harrod and I had abundant time to welcome the judge before either lady had a word for us. When I turned again to look at them Mrs. Amory and Pauline were still standing hand in hand, and the latter's lovely face, flushed with happiness, and with eyes that glistened through the starting tears, was hardly more beautiful than the sweet, sorrow-worn features of her who had found "that peace which the world cannot give," and in the sanctity of her bereaved life had learned the lesson of resignation, – the blessed hope of a blessed future. We would not interrupt them as they stood gazing into each other's eyes – the mother and her boy's devoted friend. It seemed best that from Pauline she should hear of Frank's improvement; of his captain's convalescence; and that the bonds of sympathy that drew them in such close alliance should there be riveted without my customary interference; but neither lady was forgetful of us, and turning to me, Mrs. Amory, in that soft, sweet voice men love to hear, – all the more winning for its Southern accent, – asked, —

"And is not this Mr. Brandon, my boy's friend?" And then Mr. Brandon had the happiness of clasping her hand, and presently of leading her to her carriage. She was impatient to get to her son, and it was soon arranged that Pauline should drive up to see her later in the evening, and then we separated. Ten minutes more and the orderly opened the door, and, obedient to my beckoning finger, stepped out as the lady was ushered in. We only heard the glad ring in Frank's brave young voice; one cry of "Mother!" and then we closed the door and left them together.

An hour afterwards, Mr. Parker and I walked over from headquarters to pay our respects to Mrs. Amory and escort her to her lodgings, where hospitable Madame R – was waiting to welcome her and refresh her with tea. We found the doctor there in blithe chat with his patient and that now happy mother. Very sweet and gentle was her greeting for us. She seemed to know just what to say to each and every one, and charmed Parker at once, as she had me, by her lovely manner and voice. Almost the first question was, "Can we not move Frank over with me?"

But Mars protested. Here he was right near his troop; could hear the trumpet-calls and the voices of the men at times; and so felt with them. The doctor would not let him go to duty for forty-eight hours at the least, – perhaps not then, – and he wanted to remain where he was.

Parker laughingly offered to come and occupy the room if he really thought an officer must be with the troop, and then the doctor said his say. A carriage could be there in ten minutes; he was all dressed; he might just as well move over to Madame's, a square away; be in comfortable quarters, and have his mother in the adjoining room. The project was decided on in spite of him. Parker scurried over to Camp Street, and came back with information that just such rooms as were needed were there in readiness, and when the carriage came, our boy was half lifted, half led, down the stairs, and correspondingly transferred to new and cosey quarters nearly opposite headquarters. Some of the men brought over the trunk and his few belongings, but when it came time to start, Mars himself had stretched forth his hand and gathered in a beautiful bunch of sweet wild violets whose fragrance had filled the little room. I had noticed them on the table by his side the moment we entered, and now conceived it time to inquire whence they came.

"I'm not quite sure," said Amory, with something vastly like a blush. "They were left here an hour or so before mother came, and I think Miss Summers must have sent them."

And yet that evening, when Pauline and Colonel Summers came to see Mrs. Amory for a few moments, I was still there. The violets were by Amory's bedside up-stairs; Mrs. Amory made no allusion to them, but I did, unblushingly; and neither affirming nor denying that she had sent them, Miss Summers silenced me by saying that she was glad they gave Mr. Amory pleasure, and instantly changed the subject and addressed her talk to her lady friend. Driving home, however, she was at my mercy and I again pressed the matter. A keen suspicion was actually beginning to glimmer in my brain.

"You sent those violets of course, Miss Summers?"

"If so, why ask me, Mr. Brandon?"

"Well! Didn't you, then?"

"No, sir; I never even knew of their being sent." And Miss Summers was plainly and mischievously enjoying my perplexity.

Leaving me at my rooms, the brother and sister continued on their homeward way and their enthusiastic chat about Mrs. Amory, which my unfeeling curiosity had broken in upon. It was quite late and my letters had been brought up from the office. First on the package was the one for which I was eagerly waiting, – the answer to my diplomatic missive to Bella Grayson. Ignoring all others I plunged instanter into that, and was rewarded – as I deserved.

"Dear Uncle George," she wrote. – "It was such a treat and so rare an honor to receive a letter from your august hand, that for some time I could not believe it was intended for me at all. Indeed, to be very frank, the closing page rather confirmed me in that impression. You men always taunt us by saying that the gist of a woman's letter lies in the postscript (one cynical acquaintance of mine went so far as to say that it lies all the way through), and yet not until that last page was reached did I discover the object of yours. Now, Uncle Georgy, isn't that circumlocution itself? Confess.

"But you really do seem 'interested in young Amory,' as you call him; and his 'evident admiration for a fair young friend of yours – an heiress – commands your entire sympathy.' What a cold-blooded, mercenary avowal, M. mon oncle! or, do you – is it possible that you mean – you too are interested in her? No! That is hardly tenable as a supposition. There is something so disingenuous about the rest of the letter that your interest is evidently on his account. Thank you ever so much for 'having half a mind to take me into your confidence.' And now, how can I dispel your perplexity? With the best intentions in the world, how powerless I am!

"You believe he has some lady correspondent up North. Well, that strikes me as quite a reasonable supposition. Indeed, I have heard that most of them have; but what – what did I ever say to lead to such a remark as this: 'Knowing what susceptible fellows cadets are (from your own statements)'? What could I ever have said to give you such an impression? Why, Uncle George, how should I know whether they are susceptible or not? and how could you be so cruel as to allude to the dismal fact that I had been up there every summer for six or eight years, and am still Bella Grayson? Does that look as though I thought them susceptible?

"But seriously; you say that Mr. Amory has become involved in 'some entanglement there from which he would now gladly escape,' and you fancy that Mr. Amory has done me the honor to make me his confidante; but herein you are mistaken. Certainly I have never heard a word from him of an 'entanglement,' nor do I remember his being devoted to any young girl in particular. Indeed, he struck me as being rather general in his attentions, what little I saw of him. It would be a great pleasure, no doubt, 'to help him out of his boyish folly and into something worth having,' to use your own words, but indeed, Uncle George, you overrate my influence entirely.

"Nevertheless, I always liked Mr. Amory very much, and am greatly interested in his romance. Perhaps if you were to tell me what he said to make you think he wanted to escape from his Northern entanglement, I might be able to recall some one of his flames to whom the remarks would be applicable. Tell me what you know and then my 'thinking-cap' may be put on to some advantage. Just now I'm much in the dark, and, except very casually indeed, have not heard from Mr. Amory for quite a while (How definite! – G. S. B.), and as he never mentioned this new charmer to his 'confidante,' I am most curious to hear of her. Do tell me who she is, what she is like. Is she pretty? of course that is the first question; is she – anything, everything, in fact? Do be a good Uncle Georgy and write. We were all so glad to hear from you, but as I answered, I shall expect an answer equally prompt. So write speedily to

"Your loving niece,

"Bella."

When Mr. Brandon finally sought his bachelor pillow that night, it is regretfully recorded that he, like Dogberry, remembered that he was writ an ass.