"The lieutenant's horse was to be sent to his quarters," the corporal had informed me, "at quarter before three, and the lieutenant probably would not be back at the stables again before that time."
For the next hour Mr. G. S. Brandon was as miserable a man as the city contained. No one at headquarters could tell where Amory had gone. No one knew when Vinton would be back. I fumed and fidgeted around the office some few minutes. Neither Colonel Newhall nor Mr. Parker could help me out in the least. There was no telling where to look for Amory. Vinton might be found down along the levee, but what good would that do? Twice the old general came trudging into the aide-de-camp's room, and looked at me with suspicious eyes from under his shaggy eyebrows,—my ill-concealed impatience and repeated inquiries made him irritable, or my undesired presence during business hours was a nuisance to him, perhaps; at all events, after I had for the tenth time, probably, repeated my hopeless remark of wonderment as to where that young gentleman could have gone, just as the general came promenading into the room with hands clasped behind his back and his head bent upon his breast, as we New Orleans people had grown accustomed to seeing or hearing of him, the old soldier stopped short, and, raising his head, testily exclaimed,—
"Mr. Brandon, what is the matter? Does that young officer owe you any money?"
"Money, sir? No, sir!" I answered, in all haste and half indignation. "By heavens! I wish that were the matter. The boot is on the other leg, general. I owe him something more than money. A letter, sir,—a letter from a young lady, and I undertook to deliver it two hours ago."
April sunshine bursting through storm-cloud could not more quickly soften and irradiate the face of nature than that wonderful smile of the old general's could lighten every lineament. Who that ever saw it could forget it? It beamed from the wrinkles around the kind old eyes. It flashed from his even teeth. It dimpled his cheeks into a thousand merry lights and shadows. It was sunshine itself, and with it all the old courtly manner instantly returned.
"I beg your pardon, sir. I beg his pardon, sir. God bless my soul, what an inexcusable blunder! A note from a young lady. That charming little friend of Major Vinton's? Here, Parker, you go. You see if you can't find him, sir. Bring him here, sir. Help Mr. Brandon any way you can, sir. God bless my soul, what a blunder!" And by this time we were all laughing too heartily for further words. My indignant and impetuous reply had virtually betrayed the situation.
My cab being still at the door I decided to hurry right down to Royal Street, notify the ladies of the coming review, and of the fact that the troop would not sail until the following day, though I felt sure Vinton had done that; then I could return to headquarters. Meantime that precious note was placed in Parker's hands.
Whirling across Canal Street, the cab was just turning into Royal when I caught sight of Miss Summers and Harrod on the banquette, and obedient to my shout the driver pulled up. They turned back to greet me. Yes, Vinton had sent word about the review and the good news that there was yet a day before they could sail. The colonel and his sister were going to attend to some business on Canal Street, and hurry back to meet him at the lodgings at half-past two; then they would all drive up to see the review near Tivoli Circle. Would I join them? Amory was to command the troop, as the doctor thought Major Vinton not yet strong enough to ride. But where was Amory? had I seen him?
All this was asked rapidly, as time was short, and almost as rapidly I learned that Kitty was at home, and Pauline's eyes plainly said waiting and anxious. I decided on driving thither at once and confessing the enormity of my sin of omission. I would find her in their kind landlady's parlor, said Miss Summers. So in I went.
In ten minutes Kitty Carrington fluttered into the parlor where I was awaiting her. No need to tell that hers had been a night of unhappiness, a day of bitter anxiety. Her sweet face was very pale and wan, her eyes red with weeping. How to break my news I did not know. She looked wonderingly, wistfully, at the solemnity of my face, gave me her hand with hardly a word of greeting, and stood by the table waiting for me to tell my errand, forgetful of the civility of asking me to be seated.