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Ray, glancing over his shoulder to inquire the cause of the sudden cessation of talk, caught sight of the snowy plume dancing on up the walk, of Blake standing in petrified and indignant silence, and then of Mrs. Stannard's face, her eyes filling with tears. He recalled instantly her recent questions and half-uttered warnings, and something told him the blow had come.
There was no one to help him back to the reclining chair from which he had been startled at the almost frenzied shriek of alarm. There was no further talk no thought of signals that night; Archer had had enough of fire. They bore the reviving officer, presently, to a vacant room in Stannard's quarters, and Lilian was led to her own.
The North Carolinians were more exposed to the fire than any other portion of the attacking force, and they were broken before they reached the line. There was a gap between the Virginians and the Alabama troops, and this was taken advantage of by Stannard's Vermont brigade and a demi-brigade under Gates, of the 20th New York, who were thrust forward into it.
Stannard's piazza and greet the new-comers as soon as they had removed the dust and cinders of railway travel, and in the bewildering freshness of their New York costumes reappeared on the parlor floor. That evening, of course, they held quite a levee.
Warm friends and loving friends she had in troops, and women of Mrs. Turner's mental calibre were sources of infinite, though quiet, entertainment. She enjoyed their presence, was cordial, kindly, even laughingly familiar, yet always guarded. Mrs. Stannard's most pronounced characteristic was consummate discretion.
Twilight faded with almost tropical suddenness, but not before the coming riders could be recognized as troopers, and Mrs. Stannard's heart was praying they might be her Luce's men. "If you had your wish," said Archer, as he lowered the glass and turned to where the two friends stood, their arms entwining, "what would you ask for, Mrs. Stannard?"
Truscott, and Miss Sanford, when he reached the house. Three sadder faces he had never seen. The first question was as to the verdict of the coroner's jury. Blake shook his head. "It can only be one thing." Indeed, was not that what Mrs. Whaling had been there to tell them already, with a simply maddening array of embellishments? Mrs. Stannard's blue eyes were red with weeping, and Mrs.
And just at that moment as they stood there talking of him, Mrs. Stannard's door opened and he came forth, the three ladies following. He did look well, more than well, as he turned with extended hand to say good-by.
And if he refuses, she pointed out to her father, he can't do less than consent to sell the other half of the farm to her. She treats that alternative, though, as derisory. And I haven't a doubt she's right. Evidently her father has none, either. "Well, it accounts for the change in Mr. Stannard's attitude toward the farm, of course," he concluded. "A son's supposed to thrive on adversity.
Stannard. "He is muddle-headed yet," said Bentley, in explanation. "He'll know more after awhile, which is more than we may," was the mental addition, as he looked into Mrs. Stannard's doubtful eyes. But meanwhile further tidings had come from the San Carlos and beyond. "Big Chief Jake" had been doing some famous rounding up among the late recalcitrants.
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