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An Original Belle, a novel by Edward Payson Roe |
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Chapter 44. A Wife's Embrace |
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_ CHAPTER XLIV. A WIFE'S EMBRACE
"You are not the first soldier, by untold millions, who has done so; but you have not shown the white feather yet." "When I do that I shall expire from shame. You rummage for a disguise, and I'll be back soon." She hastened to the kitchen, and at a glance saw that the Irish cook had fled, taking not a little with her. The range fire was out, and the refrigerator and the store-closet had been ravaged. She first barred and bolted all the doors, and then the best she could bring her father was crackers and milk and some old Sherry wine; but she nearly dropped these when she saw a strange man, as she supposed, emerge from his bedroom. Mr. Vosburgh's laugh reassured her, and he said: "I fancy I shall pass among strangers, since you don't know me. Nothing could be better than the milk and crackers. No wine. My head must be clearer to-day than it ever was before. So the Irish Biddy has gone with her plunder? Good riddance to her. She would have been a spy in the camp. I'll bring home food that won't require cooking, and you'll have to learn to make coffee, for Merwyn and others will, no doubt, often come half dead from fatigue. All we can do is to forage in such shops as are open, and you'll have to take the office of commissary at once. You must also be my private secretary. As fast as I write these despatches and letters copy them. I can eat and write at the same time. In an hour I must go out." "I won't play the fool again," said the girl, doggedly. "Drink this glass of milk first, while I run down for more, and satisfy my mind as to the fastenings, etc." "But, papa--" "Marian," he said, gravely, "you can stay with me only on one condition: you must obey orders." "That is what Mr. Merwyn said. Oh what a credit I've been to my military friends!" and with difficulty she drank the milk. "You are a promising young recruit," was the smiling reply. "We'll promote you before the week's out." In five minutes he was back, cool, yet almost as quick as light in every movement. The despatches she copied were unintelligible to Marian, but the one to whom they were addressed had the key. The copies of the letters were placed in a secret drawer. When their tasks were finished, Mr. Vosburgh looked up and down the street and was glad to find it comparatively empty. The storm of passion was raging elsewhere. He closed all the shutters of the house, giving it a deserted aspect, then said to his daughter. "You must admit no one in my absence, and parley with no one who does not give the password, 'Gettysburg and Little Round Top.' If men should come who say these words, tell them to linger near without attracting attention, and come again after I return. Admit Merwyn, of course, for you know his voice. It is a terrible trial to leave you alone, but there seems to be no prospect of trouble in this locality. At all events, I must do my duty, cost what it may. Be vigilant, and do not worry unnecessarily if I am detained." "I am bent on retrieving myself, papa; and I'd rather die than be so weak again." "That's my brave girl. You won't die. After this venture, which I must make at once, I shall be able to take greater precautions;" and with a fond look and kiss, he hastened away through the basement entrance, Marian fastening it securely after him. We must now follow Merwyn's fortunes for a time. Rapidly, yet vigilantly he made his way up town and crossed Third Avenue. He soon observed that the spirit of lawlessness was increasing. Columns of smoke were rising from various points, indicating burning buildings, and in Lexington Avenue he witnessed the unblushing sack of beautiful homes, from which the inmates had been driven in terror for their lives. "It will be strange if Mr. Vosburgh's home escapes," he thought. "Some one must know enough of his calling to bring upon him and his the vengeance of the mob. I shall do the best I can for him and his daughter, but to-day has slain the last vestige of hope beyond that of compelling her respect. Wholly off her guard, she showed her deep-rooted detestation, and she can never disguise it again. Regret and mortification at her conduct, a wish to make amends and to show gratitude for such aid as I may give her father, will probably lead her to be very gracious; at the same time I shall ever know that in her heart is a repugnance which she cannot overcome. A woman can never love a man towards whom she has entertained thoughts like hers;" and with much bitter musings, added to his reckless impulses, he made his way to the region in which Mrs. Ghegan had her rooms. Finding a livery stable near he hired a hack, securing it by threats as well as money, and was soon at the door of the tenement he sought. Mrs. Ghegan showed her scared, yet pretty face in response to his knock. "Ye's brought me bad news," she said, instantly, beginning to sob. "Yes, Mrs. Ghegan; but if you love your husband you will show it now. I have come to take you to him. He has been wounded." "Is it Mr. Merwyn?" "Yes; I've just come from Mr. Vosburgh, and he will do what he can for you when he has a chance. They know about your trouble. Now make haste, for we've not a moment to lose in reaching the hospital." "The Lord knows I love Barney as me loife, an' that I'd go to him through fire and blood. Oi'll kape ye no longer than to tie me bonnet on;" and this she was already doing with trembling fingers. Locking the door, she took the key with her, and was soon in the hack. Merwyn mounted the box with the driver, knowing that openness was the best safeguard against suspicions that might soon prove fatal. At one point they were surrounded and stopped by the rioters, who demanded explanations. "Clear out, ye bloody divils!" cried Sally, who did not count timidity among her foibles; "wud ye kape a woman from goin' to her husband, a-dyin' beloikes?" "Oh, let us pass," said Merwyn, in a loud tone. "A cop knocked her husband on the head, and we are taking her to him." "Och! ye are roight, me mon. We'll let onybody pass who spakes in her swate brogue;" and the crowd parted. Reaching the hospital, Sally rushed into the office with the breathless demand, "Where's Barney?" Merwyn recognized the surgeon he had met before, and said: "You know the man I brought a few hours since. This is his wife." The surgeon looked grave and hesitated. "What have ye done wid him?" Sally almost screamed. "Are ye no better than the bloody villains in the strates?" "My good woman," began the surgeon, "you must be more composed and reasonable. We try to save life when there is life--" "Where is he?" shrieked the woman. The surgeon, accustomed to similar scenes, nodded to an attendant, and said, gravely, "Show her." Merwyn took the poor woman's hand to restrain as well as to reassure her, saying, with sympathies deeply touched, "Mrs. Ghegan, remember you are not friendless, whatever happens." "Quick! quick!" she said to her guide. "Och! what's a wurld uv frin's if I lose Barney? Poor man! poor man! He once said I blew hot and could, but oi'd give him me loife's blood now." To Merwyn's sorrow they were led to the dead-house, and there lay the object of their quest, apparently lifeless, his battered face almost past recognition. But Sally knew him instantly, and stared for a moment as if turned to stone; then, with a wild cry, she threw herself upon him, moaning, sobbing, and straining his unconscious form to her breast. Merwyn felt that it would be best to let her paroxysm of grief expend itself unrestrained; but a bitter thought crossed his mind,--"I may be in as bad a plight as poor Barney before the day closes, yet no one would grieve for me like that." Suddenly Mrs. Ghegan became still. In her embrace her hand had rested over her husband's heart, and had felt a faint pulsation. A moment later she sprung up and rushed back to the office. Merwyn thought that she was partially demented, and could scarcely keep pace with her. Bursting in at the door, she cried: "Och! ye bloody spalpanes, to put a loive man where ye did! Come wid me, an' oi'll tache ye that I knows more than ye all." "Please satisfy her," said Merwyn to the surgeon, who was inclined to ignore what he regarded as the wild ravings of a grief-crazed woman. "Well, well, if it will do any good; but we have too much to do to-day for those who have a chance--" "Come on, or oi'll drag ye there," the wife broke in. "When I've satisfied you, my good woman, you must become quiet and civil. Other wives have lost their husbands--" But Sally was already out of hearing. Reaching the supposed corpse, the deeply excited woman said, with eyes blazing through her tears, "Put yez hand on his heart." The surgeon did so, and almost instantly the expression of his face changed, and he said sharply to the attendant, "Bring a stretcher with bearers at once." Then to Sally: "You are right; he is alive, but there was no such pulsation as this when he was brought here. Now be quiet and cheer up, and we may help you save his life. You can stay and take care of him." Merwyn again took the wife's trembling hand and said, earnestly: "Mrs. Ghegan, obey the surgeon's orders exactly. Be quiet, gentle, and self-controlled, and Barney may outlive us all." "Faix, Mr. Merwyn, now that oi've hope I'll be whist as a baby asleep. Ye knew me onst as a light, giddy gurl, but oi'll watch over Barney wid such a slapeless eye as wud shame his own mither." And she kept her word. For days and nights her husband remained unconscious, wavering between life and death. The faithful woman, as indifferent to the tumult and havoc in the city as if it were in another land, sat beside him and furthered all efforts in a winning fight. Merwyn saw him in a hospital ward, surrounded by skilful hands, before he took his leave. "God bless ye!" Sally began. "If yez hadn't brought me--" But, pressing her hand warmly, he did not wait to hear her grateful words. _ |
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