CHAPTER XXX
THE RAINBOW IN THE MIST
Mary had lighted his room and handed him the lamp; "sweet sleep and pleasant dreams," she had said, gravely bowing to him as she withdrew – a family custom, as he had afterward learned. But the sleep was not sweet nor the dreams pleasant. Excited and disturbed he dozed away the hours and was glad when the plantation bell rang its early summons. He dressed and made his way to the veranda, whence he wandered over the flower garden, intercepting the colonel, who was about to take his morning look about. Courteously leaving his horse at the gate that gentleman went on foot with him. It was Edward's first experience on a plantation and he viewed with lively interest the beginning of the day's labor. Cotton was opening and numbers of negroes, old and young, were assembling with baskets and sacks or moving out with a show of industry, for, as it was explained to him, it is easy to get them early started in cotton-picking time, as the work is done by the hundred pounds and the morning dew counts for a great deal. "Many people deduct for that," said Montjoy, "but I prefer not to. Lazy and trifling as he is, the negro is but poorly paid."
"But," said Edward, laughing, "you do not sell the dew, I suppose?"
"No. Generally it evaporates, but if it does not the warehouse deducts for it."
"I noticed at one place on the way south that the people were using wheel implements, do you not find them profitable?" The colonel pointed to a shed under which were a number of cultivators, revolving plows, mowing machines and a dirt turner. "I do not, the negro cannot keep awake on the cultivator and the points get into the furrows and so throw out the cotton and corn that they were supposed to cultivate. Somehow they never could learn to use the levers at the right place, with the revolving plow, and they wear its axle off. They did no better with the mower; they seemed to have an idea that it would cut anything from blades of grass up to a pine stump, and it wouldn't."
"The disk harrow," he continued laughingly, "was broken in a curious way. I sent a hand out to harrow in some peas. He rode along all right to the field and then deliberately wedged the disks to keep them from revolving, not understanding the principle. I sometimes think that they are a little jealous of these machines and do not want them to work well."
"You seem to have a great many old negroes."
"Too many; too many," he said, sadly; "but what can be done? These people have been with me all my life and I can't turn them adrift in their old age. And the men seem bent upon keeping married," he added, good-naturedly. "When the old wives die they get new and young ones, and then comes extravagant living again."
"And you have them all to support?"
"Of course. The men do a little chopping and cotton-picking, but not enough to pay for the living of themselves and families. What is it, Nancy?"
"Pa says please send him some meal and meat. He ain't had er mouthful in four days." The speaker was a little negro girl. "Go, see your young mistress. That is a specimen," said the old gentleman, half-laughing, half-frowning. "Four days! He would have been dead the second! Our system does not suit the new order of things. It seems to me the main trouble is in the currency. Our values have all been upset by legislation. Silver ought never have been demonetized; it was fatal, sir. And then the tariff."
"Is not overproduction a factor, Colonel? I read that your last crops of cotton were enormous."
"Possibly so, but the world has to have cotton, and an organization would make it buy at our own prices. There are enormous variations, of course, we can't figure in advance, and whenever a low price rules, the country is broke. The result is the loan associations and cotton factors are about to own us."
The two men returned to find Mary with the pigeons upon her shoulders and a flock of poultry begging at her feet.
"You are going with me to the general's," he said, pleadingly, as he stood by her. She shook her head.
"I suppose not this time; mamma needs me." But at the breakfast table, when he renewed the subject, that lady from her little side table said promptly: "Yes." Mary needed the exercise and diversion, and then there was a little mending to be done for the old general. He always saved it for her. It was his whim.
So they started in Edward's buggy, riding in silence until he said abruptly:
"I am persevering, Miss Montjoy, as you will some day find out, and I am counting upon your help."
"In what?" She was puzzled by his manner.
"In getting Moreau in Paris to look into the little mamma's eyes." She reflected a moment.
"But Dr. Campbell is coming."
"It is through him I going to accomplish my purpose; he must send her to Paris."
"But," she said, sadly, "we can't afford it. Norton could arrange it, but papa would not be willing to incur such a debt for him."
"His son – her son!" Edward showed his surprise very plainly.
"You do not understand. Norton has a family; neither papa nor mamma would borrow from him, although he would be glad to do anything in the world he could. And there is Annie – " she stopped. Edward saw the difficulty.
"Would your father accept a loan from me?" She flushed painfully.
"I think not, Mr. Morgan. He could hardly borrow money of his guest."
"But I will not be his guest, and it will be a simple business transaction. Will you help me?" She was silent.
"It is very hard, very hard," she said, and tears stood in her eyes. "Hard to have mamma's chances hang upon such a necessity."
"Supposing I go to your father and say: 'This thing is necessary and must be done. I have money to invest at 5 per cent. and am going to Paris. If you will secure me with a mortgage upon this place for the necessary amount I will pay all expenses and take charge of your wife and daughter.' Would it offend him?"
"He could not be offended by such generosity, but it would distress him – the necessity."
"That should not count in the matter," he said, gravely. "He is already distressed. And what is all this to a woman's eyesight?"
"How am I to help?" she asked after a while.
"The objection will be chiefly upon your account, I am afraid," he said, after reflection. "You will have to waive everything and second my efforts. That will settle it." She did not promise, but seemed lost in thought. When she spoke again it was upon other things.
"Ah, truant!" cried the general, seeing her ascending the steps and coming forward, "here you are at last. How are you, Morgan? Sit down, both of you. Mary," he said, looking at her sternly, "if you neglect me this way again I shall go off and marry a grass widow. Do you hear me, miss? Look at this collar." He pointed dramatically to the offending article; one of the Byronic affairs, to which the old south clings affectionately, and which as affectionately clings to the garment it is supposed to adorn, since it is a part of it. "I have buttoned that not less than a dozen times to-day." She laughed and, going in, presently returned with thread and needle and sitting upon his knee restored the buttonhole to its proper size. Then she surveyed him a moment.
"Why haven't you been over to see us?"
"Because – "
"You will have to give the grass widow a better excuse than that. 'Tis a woman's answer. But here is Mr. Morgan, come to see if he can catch the tune your waterfall plays – if you have no objection." Edward explained the situation.
"Go with him, Mary. I think the waterfall plays a better tune to a man when there is a pretty girl around." She playfully stopped his mouth and then darted into the house.
"General," said Edward, earnestly, "I have not written to you. I preferred to come in person to express anew my thanks and appreciation of your kindness in my recent trial. The time may come – "
"Nonsense, my boy; we take these things for granted here in the south. If you are indebted to anybody it is to the messenger who brought me the news of your predicament, put me on horseback and sent me hurrying off in the night to town for the first time in twenty years."
"And who could have done that?" Edward asked, overwhelmed with emotion. "From whom?"
"From nobody. She summed up the situation, got behind the little mare and came over here in the night. Morgan, that is the rarest girl in Georgia. Take care, sir; take care, sir." He was getting himself indignant over some contingency when the object of his eulogium appeared.
"Now, General, you are telling tales on me."
"Am I? Ask Morgan. I'd swear on a stack of Bibles as high as yonder pine I have not mentioned your name."
"Well, it is a wonder. Come on, Mr. Morgan."
The old man watched them as they picked their way through the hedge and concluded his interrupted remark: "If you break that loyal heart – if you bring a tear to those brown eyes, you will meet a different man from Royson." But he drove the thought away while he looked affectionately after the pair.
Down came the little stream, with an emphasis and noise disproportioned to its size, the cause being, as Edward guessed, the distance of the fall and the fact that the rock on which it struck was not a solid foundation, but rested above a cavity. Mary waited while he listened, turning away to pluck a flower and to catch in the falling mist the colors of the rainbow. But as Edward stood, over him came a flood of thoughts; for the air was full of a weird melody, the overtone of one great chord that thrilled him to the heart. As in a dream he saw her standing there, the blue skies and towering trees above her, a bit of light in a desert of solitude. Near, but separated from him by an infinite gulf. "Forever! Forever!" all else was blotted out.
She saw on his face the white desperation she had noticed once before.
"You have found it," she said. "What is the tone?"
"Despair," he answered, sadly. "It can mean nothing else."
"And yet," she said, a new thought animating her mobile face, as she pointed into the mist above, "over it hangs the rainbow."
CHAPTER XXXI
THE HAND OF SCIENCE
A feeling of apprehension and solemnity pervaded the hall when at last the old family coach deposited its single occupant, Dr. Campbell, at the gate. The colonel stood at the top of the steps to welcome him. Edward and Mary were waiting in the sitting-room.
The famous practitioner, a tall, shapely figure, entered, and as he removed his glasses he brought sunshine into the room, with his cheery voice and confident manner. To Mrs. Montjoy he said:
"I came as soon as the telegram was received. Anxiety and loss of rest in cases like yours are exceedingly undesirable. It is better to be informed – even of the worst. Before we discuss this matter, come to the window and let me examine the eye, please." He was assisting her as he spoke. He carefully studied the condition of the now inflamed and sightless organ, and then replaced the bandage.
"It is glaucoma," he said, briefly. "You will remember that I feared it when we fitted the glasses some years ago. The slowness of its advance is due to the care you have taken. If you are willing I would prefer to operate at once." All were waiting in painful silence. The brave woman replied: "Whenever you are ready I am," and resumed her knitting. He had been deliberate in every word and action, but the occasion was already robbed of its terrors, so potent are confidence, decision and action. Edward was introduced and would have taken his leave, but the oculist detained him.
"I shall probably need you," he said, "and will be obliged if you remain. The operation is very simple."
The room was soon prepared; a window was thrown open, a lounge drawn under it and bandages prepared. Mary, pale with emotion, when the slender form of her mother was stretched upon the lounge hurriedly withdrew. The colonel seated himself and turned away his face. There was no chloroform, no lecture. With the simplicity of of a child at play, the great man went to work. Turning up the eyelid, he dropped upon the cornea a little cocaine, and selecting a minute scalpel from his case, with two swift, even motions cut downward from the center of the eye and then from the same starting point at right angles. The incisions extended no deeper than the transparent epidermis of the organ. Skillfully turning up the angle of this, he exposed a thin, white growth – a minute cloud it seemed to Edward.
"Another drop of cocaine, please," the pleasant voice of the oculist recalled him, and upon the exposed point he let fall from the dropper the liquid. Lifting the little cloud with keen pinchers, the operator removed it, restored the thin epidermis to its place, touched it again with cocaine, and replaced the bandage. The strain of long hours was ended; he had not been in the house thirty minutes.
"I felt but the scratch of a needle," said the patient; "it is indeed ended?"
"All over," he said, cheerfully. He then wrote out a prescription and directions for dressing, to be given to the family physician. Mary was already by her mother's side, holding and patting her hand.
The famous man was an old friend of the family, and now entered into a cheerful discussion of former times and mutual acquaintances. The little boy had entered, and somehow had got into his lap, where all children usually got who came under his spell. While talking on other subjects he turned down the little fellow's lids.
"I see granulation here, colonel. Attend to it at once. I will leave a prescription." And then with a few words of encouragement, he went off to the porch to smoke.
After dinner the conversation came back to the patient.
"She will regain her vision this time," said Dr. Campbell, "but the disease can only be arrested; it will return. The next time it will do no good to operate. It is better to know these things and prepare for them." The silence was broken by Edward.
"Are you so sure of this, doctor, that you would advise against further consultation? In Paris, for instance, is Moreau. In your opinion, is there the slightest grounds for his disagreeing with you?"
"In my opinion, no. But my opinion never extends to the point of neglecting any means open to us. Were I afflicted with this disease I would consult everybody within reach who had had experience." Edward glanced in triumph at Mary. Dr. Campbell continued:
"I would be very glad if it were possible for Mrs. Montjoy to see Moreau about the left eye. You will remember that I expressed a doubt as to the hopelessness of restoring that one when it was lost. It was not affected with glaucoma; there is a bare possibility that something might be done for it with success. If the disease returns upon the right eye, the question of operating upon the other might then come up again." Edward waited a moment and then continued his questions:
"Do you not think a sea voyage would be beneficial, doctor?"
"Undoubtedly, if she is protected from the glare and dust while ashore. We can only look to building up her general health now." Edward turned away, with throbbing pulses.
"But," continued the doctor, "of course nothing of this sort should be attempted until the eye is perfectly well again; say in ten days or two weeks." Mary sat with bowed head. She did not see why Dr. Campbell arose presently and walked to where Edward was standing. She looked upon them there. Edward was talking with eager face and the other studying him through his glasses. But somehow she connected his parting words with that short interview.
"And about the sea voyage and Moreau, colonel; I do not know that I ought to advise you, but I shall be glad if you find it convenient to arrange that, and will look to you to have Moreau send me a written report. Good-bye." But Edward stopped him.
"I am going back directly, doctor, and can take you and the carriage need not return again. I will keep you waiting a few moments only." He drew Col. Montjoy aside and they walked to the rear veranda.
"Colonel," he said, earnestly, "I want to make you an offer, and I do it with hesitancy only because I am afraid you cannot understand me thoroughly upon such short acquaintance. I believe firmly in this trip and want you to let me help you bring it about. Without having interested myself in your affairs, I am assured that you stand upon the footing of the majority of southerners whose fortunes were staked upon the Confederacy, and that just now it would inconvenience you greatly to meet the expense of this experience. I want you to let me take the place of John Morgan and do just as he would have done in this situation – advance you the necessary money upon your own terms." As he entered upon the subject the old gentleman looked away from him, and as he proceeded Edward could see that he was deeply affected. He extended his hand impulsively to the young man at last and shook it warmly. Tears had gathered in his eyes. Edward continued:
"I appreciate what you would say, Colonel; you think it too much for a comparative stranger to offer, or for you to accept, but the matter is not one of your choosing. The fortunes of war have brought about the difficulty, and that is all. You have risked your all on that issue and have lost. You cannot risk the welfare of your wife upon an issue of pride. You must accept. Go to Gen. Evan, he will tell you so."
"I cannot consider the offer, my young friend, in any other than a business way. Your generosity has already put us under obligations we can never pay and has only brought you mortification."
"Not so," was the reply. "In your house I have known the first home feeling I ever experienced. Colonel, don't oppose me in this. If you wish to call it business, give it that term."
"Yours will be the fourth mortgage on this place; I hesitate to offer it. The hall is already pledged for $15,000."
"It is amply sufficient."
"I will consider the matter, Mr. Morgan," he said after a long silence. "I will consider it and consult Evan. I do not see my way clear to accept your offer, but whether or not, my young friend" – putting his arm over the other's shoulder, his voice trembling – "whether I do or not you have in making it done me an honor and a favor that I will remember for life. It is worth something to meet a man now and then who is worthy to have lived in nobler times. God bless you – and now you must excuse me." He turned away abruptly. Thrilled by his tone and words, Edward went to the front. As he shook hands with Mary he said:
"I cannot tell yet. But he cannot refuse. There is no escape for him."
At the depot in the city the doctor said: "Do not count too hopefully upon Paris, my young friend. There is a chance, but in my opinion the greatest good that can be achieved is for the patient to store in memory scenes upon which in other days she may dwell with pleasure. Keep this in mind and be governed accordingly." He climbed aboard the train and waved adieu.
Edward was leaving the depot when he overtook Barksdale. Putting his buggy in the care of a boy, he walked on with the railroader at his request to the club. Barksdale took him into a private room and over a choice cigar Edward gave him all the particulars of the duel and then expressed his grateful acknowledgments for the friendly services rendered him.
"I am assured by Gen. Evan," he said, "that had my demand been made in a different form I might have been seriously embarrassed."
"Royson depended upon the Montjoys to get him out of the affair; he had no idea of fighting."
"But how could the Montjoys have helped him?"
"They could have appealed to him to withdraw the charges he had made, and he would have done so because the information came really from a member of the Montjoy family. I do not think you will need to ask her name. I mention it to you because you should be informed." Edward comprehended his meaning at once. Greatly agitated, he exclaimed:
"But what object could she have had in putting out such slander? I do not know her nor she me." Barksdale waved his hand deprecatingly:
"You do not know much of women."
"No. I have certainly not met this kind before."
Barksdale reflected a few moments, and then said, slowly: "Slander is a curious thing, Mr. Morgan. People who do not believe it will repeat it. I think if I were you I would clear up all these matters by submitting to an interview with a reporter. In that you can place your own and family history before the public and end all talk." Edward was pale, but this was the suggestion that he had considered more than once. He shook his head quickly.
"I disagree with you. I think it beneath the dignity of a gentleman to answer slander by the publication of his family history. If the people of this city require such statements from those who come among them, then I shall sell out my interest here and go abroad, where I am known. This I am, however, loath to do; I have a few warm friends here." Barksdale extended his hand.
"You will, I hope, count me among them. I spoke only from a desire to see you fairly treated."
"I have reason to number you among them. I am going to Paris shortly, I think, with Mrs. Montjoy. Her eyesight is failing. I will be glad to see you again before then."
"With Mrs. Montjoy?" exclaimed Barksdale.
"Yes; the matter is not entirely settled yet, but I do not doubt that she will make the trip. Miss Montjoy will go with us."
Barksdale did not lift his eyes, but was silent, his hand toying with his glass.
"I will probably call upon you before your departure," he said, as he arose.