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To a spirit like mine, his language was a strong repulsion; and I swept away from him with a force it would have been vain to resist. We are apart now, and apart forever." "You are too much excited, Jessie," said Mrs. Loring, laying her finger upon the lips of her niece, "and I must enjoin silence and rest. I have faith in you. I will be your friend, though all the world pass coldly on in scorn."
George B. Loring, of Salem, wrote at the time an excellent reply to this article in "The Church Review," though he recognized, as all readers of general intelligence must, that the author of it did not by any means represent the real enlightenment of the clergy and laity for whom he undertook to be a mouthpiece.
An expert safe-opener was ordered out from Chicago, and right in the midst of all the turmoil there suddenly appeared upon the scene a blue-eyed young man, with pale features, clear-cut and strong, a light brown mustache that shaded his mouth, and, though he wore no uniform, the rumor went round that this was Lieutenant Loring of the Engineers.
"You needn't be afraid of that, for these Texans are all good shots," answered Bob; adding in a lower tone, "I'll just tell you what's a fact, Loring: I wouldn't interfere with him if I could help it." The young savage understood what Bob said, but not a muscle of his face changed.
Then Loring shut the door and left. He had many an hour later in which to think over his final interview with the aide. A most unwelcome duty was that second call to Petty. He would rather be kicked than go to Loring and say he was released from arrest and free to go; perhaps he thought the kick forthcoming if he went.
But drunk or sober, the cow-boy turned up again most unexpectedly; this time at the entrance of the alley half-way down the block. In passing he stumbled heavily against Kent; there was a thick-tongued oath, and Loring struck out smartly with his walking-stick. By consequence the man's pistol went off harmlessly in the air.
A pleasant welcome awaited Mr. Walter Loring, of the Engineers, when he opened his office and got settled down to work at his new station.
Loring started to her feet with a scream, echoed by an exclamation of "By God!" from one of the officers, while the three or four glasses at Howe's place were noisily swept into a jumble by the impulsive swing of the general's arm as he threw himself backward and rested against the table. "Charlie, Charlie!" cried Mrs. Loring. "You here?"
They moved back from the door, and crossing the parlor, sat down together on a sofa. "What is wrong?" asked Mrs. Loring, the manner and words of Mr. Dexter filling her mind with vague fear. "Much," was answered. "Say on." "Your niece, I have reason to believe, is not true to me," said Dexter. "Sir!" Astonishment and indignation blended in the tone of Mrs. Loring's voice.
Surely you need a glass of wine, or water," he added vaguely. "Thank you, Mr. Lambert, not there. Let us turn about." Within the fortnight that followed came a climax in the life of Loring, and astrologers who could have heard would have made much of such a combination of strange influences.
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