"Miss Lou" Part 26

He came to her quickly and said, "I've been trying to realize all that has happened since I fell at your feet yonder."

"Far more has happened to me than to you," she replied. "It seems years since then; I've seen and learned so much."

"I wish to ask you something," he said earnestly.

"That scamp, Perkins, fired on me at close range. You stood just over him and I heard what you said. How happened it that his bullet flew so wide of the mark?"

She began laughing as she asked, "Have you never heard that there was luck in throwing an old shoe? I hit Perkins over the eyes with one of mine."

"Took it off and fired it while he was trying to shoot me?"

"Yes."

He seized both her hands and asked, "What will you take for that shoe?"

"What a Yankee you are to ask such a question! It wasn't a shoe; it was a slipper." "Have you it on now?"

"Yes. What should you want of it?"

"I want to wear it next my heart. Which one was it? Let me see it."

"No; it's old. I haven't any other, and I shall wear it on my right foot as long as it lasts."

"Please let me see it and take it in my hands just a moment. I may never have a chance to ask another favor of you."

"Oh, yes, you will. You are coming to see us, and the general has asked me to visit his daughter after the war is over. Do you think he'll remember it?"

"The slipper, please."

"How can you ask so absurd a thing?" and a dainty foot was put out a brief instant before him.

"Oh, you little Cinderella! I wish I was the Prince." He saw something like a frown gathering on her face. "Don't look that way," he resumed, "I want to tell you something I've read. I don't remember the words, but the gist is that a woman never forgets a man on whom she has bestowed a great kindness. Already I have twice owed my life to you.

You can't forget me. My hope is in what you have done for me, not what I can do for you. I can think of myself lying dead in front of the house, I know I am standing here looking into your true, sweet eyes.

Let me look into them a moment, for I have no sister, no mother, no one in the world that I care for like you. Do not think I am making love. I may be dead yet before night. But whether I live or die I want you to remember that there is one human soul that always wishes you well for your OWN sake, that is wholly and unselfishly devoted to your interests and happiness."

"There, I'm beginning to cry, and your dinner's getting cold. You must stop talking so."

"Give me something to carry into battle this afternoon."

She stooped and gathered some wild violets. "There," she said.

"You could not have chosen better. Whenever I see violets hereafter they shall be your eyes looking at me as you are looking now."

"And--well--you can remember that there is always a little friend in the South who does care. That's a curious thought about a woman's caring for those she has--I don't believe a woman can care for any one and not try to do something for him. Let us just think of ourselves as friends. It seems to me that I never want to think any other way. Now you MUST get your dinner. You may be summoned hastily and have no other chance to-day. After Uncle l.u.s.thah's words last night I'm not going to have any forebodings."

"Won't you let me call you Miss Lou once before I go?"

"Why not?"

"Well, then, Miss Lou, look in my eyes once more and remember what you see there. I won't say a word."

She raised hers shyly to his, blushed deeply and turned away, shaking her head. The power to divine what she saw was born with her.

"Yes, I understand you," he said very gently, "but you can't help it, any more than the sun's s.h.i.+ning. Some day your heart may be cold and sad, and the memory of what you have just seen may warm and cheer it Miss Lou, you brave, n.o.ble little child-woman, didn't you see that my love was your servant--that it merely gives you power over me? Even as my wife you would be as free as I would be. Now good-by. We part here and not before others. Chunk is yonder with my horse. Be just as happy as you can whether we ever meet again or not." "Then--then--if you don't come again?" she faltered.

"I shall be dead, but don't believe this too hastily."

"You've been kind," she burst out pa.s.sionately, "you've treated me with respect, as if I had a right to myself. You have saved me from what I dreaded far worse than death. You shall not go away, perhaps to die, without--without--without--oh, think of me only as a grateful child whose life you've kept from being spoiled."

"I shall not go away without--what?" he asked eagerly.

"Oh, I don't know. What shall I say? My heart aches as if it would break at the thought of anything happening to you." She dropped on the gra.s.s and, burying her face in her hands, sobbed aloud.

He knelt beside her and sought to take one of her hands.

Suddenly she hid her face against his breast for a moment and faltered, "Love me as a child NOW and leave me."

"You have given me my orders, little girl, and they would be obeyed as far as you could see were I with you every day."

"Lieutenant Scoville!" shouted the distant voice of an orderly. He hastily kissed away the tears in her eyes, exclaiming, "Never doubt my return, if living," and was gone.

In a moment he had pa.s.sed through the shrubbery. Before she had regained self-control and followed he was speeding his horse toward the ridge. "There, he has gone without his dinner," she said in strong self-reproach, hastening to the cabin. Chunk, who was stuffing a chicken and cornbread into a haversack, rea.s.sured her. "Doan you worry, Miss Lou," he said. "Dis yere chicken gwine ter foller 'im right slam troo eberyting till hit cotch up," and he galloped after his new "boss"

in a way to make good his words.

CHAPTER XXI

TWO STORMS

Miss Lou sank wearily on the doorstep of Aun' Jinkey's cabin where the reader first made her acquaintance. She drew a long sigh. "Oh, I must rest and get my breath. So much is happening!"

"You po' chile!" was the sympathetic response. "Ah well, honey, de good Lawd watchin' ober you. I year how dat ole snake in-de-gra.s.s Perkins git out Miss Whately's keridge en tink he gwine ter tote you off n.o.body know whar. You pa.s.sin' troo de Red Sea long o' us, honey. I yeared how you say you doan wanter lebe yo' ole mammy. I ain' cried so sence I wus a baby w'en I yeared dat. Doan you reckermember, honey? You sot right dar en wish sump'n ter hap'n. I 'spects we bettah be keerful how we wishes fer tings. Doan you min' de time Uncle l.u.s.thah pray fer rain en we wus all nigh drownded?"

"I'm not sorry, mammy, things happened, for my heart's been warmed, WARMED as never before. Oh, it's so sweet to know that one is cared for; it is so sweet to have somebody look you in the eyes and say, 'I want you to be happy in your own way.'"

"Did Ma.r.s.e Scoville say dat?"

The girl nodded.

"I'se hab ter smoke on dat ar lil whiles."

Both were lost in thought for a time, Miss Lou's eyes looking dreamily out through the pines and oaks as they had before when vaguely longing that the stagnation of her life might cease. All had become strangely still; not a soldier was in sight; even the birds were quiet in the sultriness of the early afternoon. "Isn't it all a dream?" the girl asked suddenly.

"Kin' ob wish we could wake up den, if it is. See yere, Miss Lou, you on'y a lil chile arter all. Doan you see Ma.r.s.e Scoville des tekin' a longer way roun' de bush? Wen he tell you he want you ter be happy he mean he want you hissef!"

"Oh, yes, Aun' Jinkey, that was plain enough; but do you know how he would take me and when?"