The Man in Gray | Page 8

exceptionally good looking. He sang and danced and flirted, but beneath the fun and foolishness slumbered a fine spirit, tender, reverent, deeply religious. It was this undercurrent of strength that drew the girl. He was always humming a song, his heart bubbling over with joy. He had never uttered an oath or touched a drop of liquor amid all the gaiety of the times in which he lived.
"Miss Mary," he began slowly.
"Now Jeb," she interrupted. "You don't have to, you know--"
Stuart threw his head back, laughed, and sang a stanza from "Annie Laurie" in a low, tender voice. He paused and faced his fair tormentor.
"Miss Mary, I've got to!"
"You don't have to make love to me just because you're my brother's classmate--"
"You know I'm not!" he protested.
"You're about to begin."
"But not for that reason, Miss Mary--"
He held her gaze so seriously that she blushed before she could recover her poise. He saw his advantage and pressed it.
"I'm telling you that I love you because you're the most adorable girl I've ever known."
His boyish, conventional words broke the spell.
"I appreciate the tribute which you so gallantly pay me, Sir Knight. But I happen to know that the moonlight, the music of a dance, the song of birds this morning and the beauty of the landscape move you, as they should. You're young. You're too good looking. You're fine and unspoiled and I like you, Jeb. But you don't know yet what love means."
"I do, Miss Mary, I do."
"You don't and neither do I. You're in love with love. And so am I. It's the morning of life and why shouldn't we be like this?"
"There's no hope?" he asked dolefully.
"Of course, there's hope. There's something fine in you, and you'll find yourself in the world when you ride forth to play your part. And I'll follow you with tender pride."
"But not with love," he sighed.
"Maybe--who knows?" she smiled.
"Is that all the hope you can give me?"
"Isn't it enough?"
He gazed into her serious eyes a moment and laughed with boyish enthusiasm.
"Yes, it is, Miss Mary! You're glorious. You're wonderful. You make me ashamed of my foolishness. You inspire me to do things. And I'm going to do them for your sake."
"For your own sake, because God has put the spark in your soul. Your declaration of love has made me very happy. We're too young yet to take it seriously. We must both live our life in its morning before we settle down to the final things. They'll come too soon."
"I'm going to love you always, Miss Mary," he protested.
"I want you to. But you'll probably marry another girl."
"Never!"
"And I know you'll be her loyal knight, her devoted slave. It's a way our Southern boys have. And it's beautiful."
Stuart studied the finely chiseled face with a new reverence.
"Miss Mary, you've let me down so gently. I don't feel hurt at all."
A sweet silence fell between them. A breeze blew the ringlets of the girl's hair across the pink of her cheek. A breeze from the garden laden with the mingled perfume of roses. A flock of wild ducks swung across the lawn high in the clear sky and dipped toward the river. Across the fields came a song of slaves at work in the cornfield, harvesting the first crop of peas planted between the rows.
Stuart caught her hand, pressed it tenderly and kissed it.
"You're an angel, Miss Mary. And I'm going to worship you, if you won't let me love you."
The girl returned his earnest look with a smile and slowly answered:
"All right, Beauty Stuart, we'll see--"
CHAPTER IV
The dinner at night was informal. Colonel Lee had invited three personal friends from Washington. He hoped in the touch of the minds of these leaders to find some relief from the uneasiness with which the reading of Mrs. Stowe's book had shadowed his imagination.
The man about whom he was curious was Stephen A. Douglas of Illinois, the most brilliant figure in the Senate. In the best sense he represented the national ideal. A Northern man, he had always viewed the opinions and principles of the South with broad sympathy.
The new Senator from Georgia, on the other hand, had made a sensation in the house as the radical leader of the South. Lee wondered if he were as dangerous a man as the conservative members of the Whig party thought. Toombs had voted the Whig ticket, but his speeches on the rights of the South on the Slavery issues had set him in a class by himself.
Mr. and Mrs. Pryor had spent the night of the dance at Arlington and had consented to stay for dinner.
Douglas had captured the young Virginia congressman. And Mrs. Douglas had become an intimate friend of Mrs. Pryor.
When Douglas entered the library and pressed Lee's hand, the master of Arlington studied