AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.
While Archdale, full of emotions that he did not try to analyze, went on toward Grand Battery, a figure, eluding him, crept softly to one of the hospital tents, lifted the curtain a little way without being observed at first, and stood looking in, an interested spectator, not because human suffering, patience, and courage were upon exhibition here, but because here he would find some one who could give him information that he wanted.
In a few minutes Nancy Foster, passing by the door, looked up and saw him watching her. She had become too well used to unfamiliar faces and to messages at all hours and was too well protected to feel alarm.
"Oh! la! how you startled me," she cried. "What do you want? Dr. Waters?"
"Hush!" he said, and beckoned to her to draw nearer. "I want to speak to that lady yonder, only for a moment. Do you think she would come here?" Harwin, for it was he, was a fine illustration of the proverb that he who asks timidly, teaches denial. If he had demanded her mistress, Nancy would have spoken to her at once. Now she scanned the intruder curiously, and judged from the hesitation of his manner that his errand was not urgent.
"No, she can't," she answered, with the decision wanting in the other. "Don't you see how she's driven? And she's got to go away some time and get a little rest. You'll have to come tomorrow."
"To-morrow!" he echoed drearily. Was it for this that he had come from the fleet in the dispatch boat, and was braving all dangers? He took a resolution from despair. He fell back until Nancy had gone and was again intent upon her work.
At last he stepped forward noiselessly and began to make the half circuit of the tent toward Elizabeth. Nancy, pre-occupied, passed by him without speaking.
Elizabeth had sent for fresh water to moisten the lips of the dying soldier whom she had told Archdale about. She had just filled her cup a second time, and was on her way toward her especial charge for that night, when Edmonson asked her for water. Ashamed of her impatience at the simple request, she turned toward him, walking carefully with her eyes upon her mug, not to waste a refreshment that had to be brought from a distance. Suddenly, she found herself almost running against the intruder. She looked up.
But the apology froze upon her lips. She retreated hastily several steps, the water splashed unheeded over her trembling fingers. Edmonson, who was always watching her, called to Nancy, "Your mistress, girl! Quick!" and turned to look for her.
Nancy had gone to her patients in the next tent. But his voice helped Elizabeth to recover herself. She stood firm again, but her rigid expression did not change. With a bow, the intruder began:—
"May I venture—"
She interrupted him. "Do not speak to me, or stay here. Go!" She was like marble, only that her eyes blazed. Her hand pointed toward the door emphasizing her repulsion. Edmonson looked in amazement at this new power, to him a new attraction.
The other drew back precipitately a few steps. Then he stopped and stood looking at her, the questions that he had meant to put so boldly struggling with something not unlike fear. For Elizabeth's look and tone were terrible. She was an embodied indignation. At the moment he believed her Archdale's wife. Her hand pointing toward the door was turning him beyond the reach of all that was dearest to him. Yet for a moment it seemed as if he could not resist her, as if he were forever to be in exile. But he remembered that it was Katie Archdale's world that was looking at him out of those pitiless eyes, and condemning him. He had tried so hard to get news of Katie; he had even written her father a business letter, and had ended it by a covert inquiry for news of her. Not one word but business had come in the answer. Then, learning that Elizabeth was here, he had contrived to be sent ashore, for he had been with Commodore Warren through the siege, had risked meeting Archdale, had risked everything for this chance of the news he hungered for. He had been sure that the person whom he recollected as Mistress Royal must answer whatever questions he might choose to put to her. And now must he go away starving within sight of food? In desperation he tried to summon back his assurance.
"Only let me ask you if Katie—Mistress—," he began again, taking a hasty step toward her. But again she stopped him, and this time without a word. As he tried to meet her look, gradually his eyes fell. He made no further effort to speak. Step by step he fell backward, until at a distance from her he stood still looking at her as if strength failed him, even to retreat. Elizabeth turned to Edmonson, and gave him the water left in her cup.
"Is that Harwin?" he asked hoarsely, holding it back from his lips until she had answered him.
"Yes," she said, as if to end the subject. "Drink. I must go."
He sipped hastily, without thirst, and handed back the cup. "Thank you," he said. As she turned away, her hand was trembling again. She swept her eyes in the opposite direction from Harwin if he should still be there. Edmonson, after a long glance at her, lay watching him. Here was his evil genius. But for Harwin what would not have been? In a flash the future that he had planned, a thousand times more blissful than his former dreams, came up before him, and, fading, left the present all the more blank. His wounded right arm moved convulsively. Harwin remained still where Elizabeth's last repulse had left him. He seemed trying to swallow his chagrin, and wrap the tatters of his dignity about him before he moved away. Perhaps he was in a dream of the woman whose very name he had not been allowed to utter. Elizabeth was beside Melvin again, and Edmonson still kept his eyes fixed upon Harwin, who was standing between him and her, and gradually and painfully he raised his right arm toward the pillow.
Archdale had been met by an orderly, and had gone to the General's tent instead of to the Battery. Pepperell was alone.
"Sit down," he said. "No, let us go out into the air. Warren's dispatches have just come," he added, as the two passed out of the tent. "He expects two or three large ships in any day. I shall arrange for the general attack as soon as they come up." He smiled at Archdale's enthusiastic endorsement. "You like the smoke of battle," he said. "But the fact is, you have an eye for military situations. Of course I have quite made up my mind, but I should like to hear what you have to say." And he laughed, and took his young friend's arm with a freedom not too common in those stately times. But Pepperell was a man who, born in any age or place, would have found himself at home there, and controlling affairs, not controlled by them. He had come to Louisburg with very little experience in military matters; he had never even seen a siege. He led an army of fishermen, backwoodsmen, farmers, who had left their employments at their country's call. But these had the strong hearts and the quick wits that more than a hundred years later, when the land awoke from a dream of peace, made it rise up a nation of soldiers.
The General and Archdale went to a hillock that commanded a view of the harbor, and of the city constantly illuminated by the bursting shells, as were also the forts and the army encamped there. The luridness of war was over everything. They stood looking toward the island which, ever since the assault, had hurled its fire at them incessantly.
"And what would you do with that Battery?" asked the General.
"Annihilate the Battery," retorted the young man. "It can be done. I think you could rake it best from the Light House."
"I believe I will try. Say nothing of this, Archdale. I shall wait a day or two for those ships. It would be awkward, wouldn't it, if the French ones came instead?" His words were light, but the other perceived his deep anxiety.
"What would you do then?" he asked.
"Take Louisburg,—or die."
Archdale turned towards him impulsively. "Yes, you will," he cried, "you will lead us into Louisburg." He waited a moment. "Before the general attack—," he began, and hesitated.
"Oh, I'll send the rest of the hospital off to Canso," interposed Pepperell, "all I can of it; our house there is full now. And the nurses,—you may be sure that they shall go. That's what you mean?"
"Yes, you think of everything."
"Mr. Royal has been impressing the same necessity upon me." And the General laughed.
"Where is he?" asked Stephen quickly.
"He has been with his daughter all the afternoon, I believe, but a while ago he went up to the Batteries with Col. Vaughan.
"But Elizabeth Royal is not a woman to be forgotten," Pepperell went on, "even if her father were not my old friend, and at my elbow."
"No," said the young man. Then he made a remark about military affairs, and the subject of the attack was renewed.
Suddenly came the report of a pistol different from the roar of the cannon, and so unexpected and near that it startled the listeners as if its sharpness had broken in upon the still night.
"Where was that?" cried the General.
Not only sound, but intuition guided Archdale. For the element that was a sharper discord than war was to be found in the place to which his feet were rushing. If not himself for victim, who then? In another moment he threw back the door of the hospital tent in which Elizabeth was, and entered.
He was none too soon. Elizabeth, swaying beside the couch of the dying soldier, fell as Archdale reached her. He lifted her, and carried her to her own tent. She was too faint to resist, or appeal. Nancy, whom the shot had summoned, followed, holding back her grief and terror because help and silence were what her mistress needed. Archdale had stayed but a moment in the tent. But he had seen everything, Harwin unhurt rushing toward his assailant, the surgeon wrenching the pistol from the disabled hand that had missed its aim, and Edmonson's face wild with horror at the lodgment that his ball had found. He had seen all, and he comprehended all.