It was not a difficult matter to persuade the men to stay to supper. Old Uncle Lias kept piling up the fire, and the scene was so homelike—and then it was Christmas night!
“You thought you were going to frighten us with your armed force,” said Dorothy to the Sergeant, who managed to keep near her, “but I know you have only four men outside, and it’s a shame to keep them on their horses on such a bitter night.” She walked over to the window and looked out. “It is snowing furiously! Why don’t you let them come in and have some supper? I should hate to have any of our men outside of warmth and shelter to-night,” she added, wondering miserably where Bobbie then was. “Ask the Lieutenant to let them come in.” The Sergeant looked at her curiously; surely she could not be scheming. He walked over to the Lieutenant and repeated Dorothy’s request. They talked it over for awhile, and then the Lieutenant accepted the invitation with thanks. The men outside were men of his own class, and at least would appreciate the courtesy of being asked in, and the superior officer had made up his mind to stay and see something more of that ghost, if possible.
Women are nearly always good actors, and even the prim Misses Rutherfoord and the proper Miss Trent nervously tried to appear in sympathy with the reckless gayety of Dorothy and Anne, who, when the other four young men came in, received them as they would have done the acquaintances of old friends, and the dining-room became a scene of genuine Christmas cheer. Dorothy’s hands shook as she handed first one and then another dainty cup to their very much mixed-up guests; and if at times her laughter was a little unusually gay for her, it was the only way she could keep back the tears which treacherously hung under her lashes. This was to have been her wedding night, she thought bitterly, between the sharp, witty sayings which kept them all convulsively laughing, and under the table she would press her hands together in an agony of terror, as the thought of what might possibly have happened came over her. She was doing all this to save him. Peter Black she knew was hidden down in the woods by the road Bobbie must pass. They were to go to Sallie Tom’s cabin and stay there until they heard from her. That was the message she had sent, and now every moment was precious, yet she could not hurry lest suspicions be aroused. Sallie Tom was still snorting over the fright of the ghost, nevertheless her supper was in no wise injured, and when she finally brought in a huge punch bowl filled to the brim with luscious, foaming eggnog, she was greeted by a clapping of hands.
“Now confess you were frightened.”
“Dis heah is suppin’ what you ain’t seen of en, I reckon,” she said to one of the soldiers, as she put it down on the table with an air of supreme satisfaction, “dis heah am de genuine artickle itsef, ain’t no mek-believe ’bout dis,” she continued, stirring the contents with a handsome old silver ladle. “Dis am de stuff what de quality folks all drink in de Souf at Christmus times, and de missus she low’d we mus’ all hav some to-night, even if all de men folks am away,” She added the last mournfully, and as Dorothy took the ladle out of her hands, she pressed Sallie Tom’s fingers in such a way that the latter understood, and shortly afterwards left the room.
If the Yankee soldiers had never tried it before, they made up for lost opportunities, and though the reverend parson walked restlessly up and down the room, holding his only partly touched glass in his hand, he dared not utter the protest that his conscience told him under other circumstances he should, and Dorothy and Anne, with a silent prayer for forgiveness, filled again and again the glasses of the men with the foamy seductive stuff, and good cheer was being widely disseminated when Sallie Tom entered again. She touched Dorothy’s dress in passing, and began to break some more eggs to show the strangers how it was made, but Anne had them now at the piano, and song after song she struck up and led. Her clear soprano voice was joined in hilariously by every soldier in the room, and even timidly by the Misses Rutherfoord and the Miles children. Presently Uncle Lias, sent by Sallie Tom, came in with his old banjo and began a jig, and such an uproariously gay time they were having that they did not hear the soft click of the door or notice that Dorothy was back in the room, her face flushed and lips quivering, or that Mrs. Tayloe was missing. Sallie Tom’s cordial had done its work well. The men were gloriously happy and magnanimously inclined towards the whole Southern army much more these charming Southern women, and the good old parson with his two pair of twins. Anne caught Dorothy’s eye and banged louder and louder, then some one proposed the Virginia Reel. Miss Trent took Anne’s place at the piano, and though navigation was a treacherous thing for some of the boys in blue, still they bravely stood up and went through it heroically, making a terrible clatter with their feet and hands to the music, and through all Anne and Dorothy were the wildest, gayest in the crowd. Romping, noisy games followed each other in quick succession, during which Dorothy managed repeatedly to slip by one of the windows and stealthily look out. Finally she was satisfied, and then she declared herself worn out, and the Rev. Doctor Miles, with whom every now and then she had contrived to catch a few words, understood it was time to go, and the soldiers immediately took the hint. They were gentlemen, and by no means inclined to presume upon the privileges of war; and when he asked them in his nervous, timid way if it would be safe for him to venture home with so many ladies in charge, they gallantly offered their services as escort, though assuring him the road was perfectly safe so far as their men were concerned.
“There is not apt to be much prying around on such a night as this,” the Lieutenant added, shivering a little as he went out in the hall, “but I know it is one we shall never forget,” and he bowed low over the hand Mrs. Tayloe held out to him. “We have all heard of Southern hospitality, of course, but we hardly expected to enjoy it under the present condition of things. I can only assure you, madam, you will never regret it.” He looked at Anne as he spoke, and held out his hand to her. “When all this is over,” he whispered, “this beastly war, I mean, will you scorn to know a man who fought on the other side?”
“I never scorn an honest man,” she answered, “even if he is a Yankee soldier,” she added, laughing. “Good-bye.” She touched his hand lightly, and drew back into the room. The horses pawed the ground and turned restlessly round and round. The Mileses and Rutherfoords and Trents piled hastily in their sleighs, and only the Sergeant stood at the door, telling Dorothy again and again good-bye. The eggnog had been too much for him, and his tone took a sentimental air as he held her hand for a second.
“I say,” he whispered, “don’t tell the Lieutenant, but I’m mighty glad we didn’t catch that fellow, and if I ever run across him again I won’t know him! Good-bye, good-bye, you little Southern witch, good-bye.”
At last they were gone. The muffled sound of their horses’ hoofs, together with their laughter, could be heard for a few moments only, and then came still, intense, impenetrable silence.
Dorothy was back in the library for one brief minute. “Keep the lights up, and the house just as it is, until I get back,” she said, hurriedly, “Thank God, they got out safely,” she added, turning to Mrs. Tayloe, and giving her a swift, tender kiss. “Did anybody miss me? I was wild with terror lest they would suspect something, but I knew their only chance was to get out during the noise and romping. I shall tell them good-bye for you all. No, no! No one must go.” She was hastily wrapping herself up as she talked, and when Sallie Tom appeared at the door, heavily muffled about the head and face, they crept out together into the bitter, bitter night.
It was a good half-mile down to the quarters, but already they could see through the darkness a tiny light, and they struggled on through the snow, almost falling in a drift, then up and on again. Neither spoke. The reaction was beginning to tell on Dorothy, and her strength was tested to the utmost. Much was yet to be done, however, and she bit her lips almost to the blood, lest she should give some sign of how she suffered. The snow muffled the sound of their coming, and while Sallie Tom knocked softly at the door, Dorothy leaned heavily against it. In a moment it was opened, and the men sprang forward to catch her, as she almost fell inside. “I’m all right,” she cried. “Shut the door quick. You have not a moment to lose. Are the horses ready?”
Bobbie took her up in his arms, as if she were a little child, and put her in front of the fire. “Where is Dr. Miles?” he asked, hoarsely. “Didn’t you bring him? I have the license here in my pocket. We must be married before I leave you. Don’t tell me!”—. The look on her face stopped him; and the reckless young soldier, who had faced death a hundred times without a quiver, turned away, lest she should see the bitter pain of this defeat. The two older men stood aside; this was too sacred even for them. Sallie Tom was outside, helping Peter Black with the horses, and only the sputtering of the logs broke the sorrowful stillness that fell upon them all. Presently Bobbie stooped over and kissed her. “I know all about it. We have been outwitted to-night; but I swear here, in the presence of you all, that, if it is not possible before, then on next Christmas night nothing but Almighty God himself shall keep me from claiming my wife! I shall keep this”—and he touched the license in his pocket—“whenever I come, will you be ready?” She nodded without speaking, and silently they each bent and kissed her good-bye, and through the stillness she heard the muffled sounds of their horses’ hoofs upon the snow, and upon her heart lay the despair of utter desolation.