The Southerner: A Romance of the Real Lincoln Part 60

"I must, Mother, dear," he firmly went on. "Life is sweet when it's worth living. But man can not live by bread alone. They have only the power to kill my body. You ask me to murder my soul."

He paused and turned to the President, whose eyes were s.h.i.+ning with admiration.

"I believe, sir, that I am right and you are wrong. This is war. We must fight it out. I'm a soldier and a soldier's business is to die."

The tall figure suddenly crossed the s.p.a.ce that separated them and grasped his hand:

"You're a brave man, Ned Vaughan, the kind of man that saves this world from h.e.l.l--the kind that makes this Nation great and worth saving whole!

I wish I could keep you here--but I can't. You know that--good-bye----"

"Good-bye, sir," was the firm answer.

The mother began to sob piteously until Betty spoke something softly in her ear.

Ned turned, pressed her to his heart, and held her in silence. He took Betty's hand and bent to kiss it.

"You shall not die," she whispered tensely. "I'm going to save you."

She felt the answering pressure and knew that he understood.

Betty held the mother at the door a moment and spoke in low tones:

"I can get permission from the President to delay the execution until his sister may arrive and say good-bye to him in prison the night before the execution. Wait and I'll get it now."

The mother stood and gazed in a stupor of dull despair while Betty pressed to his desk and begged the last favor. It was granted without hesitation.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'You're a brave man, Ned Vaughan.'"]

The President wrote the order delaying the death for three days and handed her his card on which was written:

"Admit the bearer, the sister of the prisoner, Ned Vaughan, the night before his execution to see him for five minutes.

"A. LINCOLN."

"I'm sorry, little girl, I couldn't do more for _your_ sake--but you understand?"

Betty nodded, returned the pressure of his hand and hurriedly left the room.

The hanging was fixed for the following Friday at noon. The pa.s.s would admit his sister on Thursday night. Betty had three days in which to work. She drew every dollar of her money and went at her task swiftly, silently, surely, until she reached the guard inside the grim old prison, who held the keys to the death watch.

She couldn't trust the sister with her daring plan. She might lose her nerve. She must impersonate her. It was a dangerous piece of work, but it was not impossible. She had only to pa.s.s the inspectors. The guards inside were her friends.

On Thursday night at eight o'clock a carriage drew up at the little red brick house, on whose door flashed the bra.s.s plate sign:

ELIZABETH GARLAND, MODISTE

She had made an appointment with Mrs. Lincoln's dressmaker and arranged for it at this late hour. She must not be seen leaving her father's house to-night.

She drove rapidly to the Capitol, stopped her carriage at the north end, entered the building through the Senate wing, quickly pa.s.sed out again, and in a few minutes had presented her pa.s.s to the commandant of the Old Capitol Prison.

The woman inspector made the most thorough search and finding nothing suspicious, allowed her to enter the dimly lighted corridor of the death watch.

The turnkey loudly announced:

"The sister of the prisoner, Ned Vaughan!"

She met him face to face in the large cell in which the condemned were allowed to pa.s.s their last night on earth. The keen eyes of a guard from the Inspector's office watched her every act and every movement of her body.

Ned stared at her. His heart beat with mad joy. She was going to play his sister's part! He would take her in his arms for the first time and feel the beat of her heart against his and their lips would meet. He laughed at death as he looked into her eyes with the hunger of eternity gleaming in his own.

There could be no hesitation on her part.

She threw both arms around his neck crying:

"Brave, foolish boy!"

He held her close, crushed her with one mad impulse, and slowly relaxed his arms. She would forgive him for this moment of delirium on the brink of the grave, but he must be reasonable.

"I am ready to die, now, dearest," he murmured.

She slowly lifted her lips to his in a long kiss--a kiss that thrilled body and soul--and pressed into his mouth a tiny piece of tissue paper.

She stood holding both his hands for a moment and hesitated, glancing at the guard from the corner of her eye. He was watching with steady stolid business-like stare. She must play her part to the end carefully and boldly.

"I've only this moment just to say good-bye, Boy," she faltered. "I promised not to stay long." Slowly her arms stole round his neck, and the blood rushed to his face in scarlet waves.

"Love has made death glorious, dearest," he breathed tenderly. "G.o.d bless you for coming, for all you have done for me, and for all this holy hour means to my soul--you understand."

The tears were streaming down her cheeks now. The plan might fail after all--the gallows was there in the jail yard lifting its stark arms in the lowering sky. She pressed his hands hysterically:

"Yes, yes, I understand."

She turned and hurried to the guard:

"Take me out quickly. I'm going to faint. I can't endure it."

The guard caught her arm, supporting her as she made her way to the street.

In fifteen minutes she had returned to the dressmaker's and from there called another carriage and went home.

The guard had no sooner turned his back than Ned Vaughan quickly opened and read the precious message which gave the plan of escape.

When the sentinel on his corridor was changed at midnight the blond, blue-eyed boy would be his friend and explain.

When he found the rope ladder concealed on the roof it was raining. He fastened it carefully in the shadow of an offset in the outer wall and waited for the appearance of the guard. As he pa.s.sed the gas lamp post and the flickering light fell on his face he studied it with care. He was stupid and allowed the rain to dash straight into his fat face. It should be easy to reach the shadows by a quick leap when he turned against the rain and reached the length of his beat.

He calculated to a second the time required to make the descent, threw himself swiftly to the end of his rope and dropped to the pavement.

In his eagerness to strike the ground on the run, his foot slipped and he fell. The guard heard and ran back, blinking his stupid eyes through the rain. He found a young sport who had lost his way in the storm.