The Earth Trembled

by Edward Payson Roe

Sensible old Mrs. Bodine felt that it was time to come back to every-day life, so she said promptly, "Yes, and He is going to bless her, and bless us all. If there is any mourning to be done on this occasion you must do it. We three girls have been having a good talk, and are the better for it. That's the demmed total—oh, fie! there I am at it again. Well, Cousin Hugh, to take you into our entire confidence, we have been facing things and have arrived at several conclusions, one of which is—now, Ella, shut your ears—that you have one of the best daughters in the world, and that she and Mara have quite broken the ice between them and are going to be very good friends, and I was saying how I would like to convoy two such girls in one of our ballrooms in the good old times—oh, well, we have just been having a long lingo as girls will when they get together."

Captain Bodine was gifted with tact and a quick appreciation. He understood the old lady and her purpose.

"Cousin Sophy," he said, "you are just the same as when, a boy, I used to visit you—tears and smiles close together. Well, I believe that Heaven comes down very near when you three girls get together."

The old lady lay back in her chair and laughed heartily. "Oh, Ella, if you only knew what a mischievous boy your father was once! But, there, we have had enough of the past and the future for one day. Mara, my dear, you must stay and banquet with us. No, no, no, I won't hear any excuse. When I once get on quarter-deck every one must obey orders. Ella, direct Hannah to spread the festive board. You and Mara can lend a hand, and you can put on all we have in five minutes. To think that I should have eaten that delicious jelly you brought, greedy old cormorant that I am!"

A few moments later Mara supported the old lady down to the dining-room, and, though the viands were few and meagre, the banqueters, to say the least, were not commonplace. Mara said nothing of her plan, but Ella was invited to spend the following morning with her. In the late lingering twilight Captain Bodine escorted the young girl home. On the way thither they came plump upon Owen Clancy. He glanced keenly from one to the other as he lifted his hat. Mara's only response was a slight bow.

CHAPTER XV

TWO LITTLE BAKERS

Mara led Captain Bodine up to their little parlor and introduced him to Mrs. Hunter, who received him most cordially, feeling that in him she recognized a congenial spirit. He treated her with the respect and old-time courtesy which she said was "so truly Southern." Their feelings and beliefs touched closely at several points, yet they were very different in their essential characteristics. Poor Mrs. Hunter had been limited by nature and education. She could not help being narrow in all her views; she was scarcely less able to dismiss her intense, bitter prejudices. She was quite incapable of reasoning herself into her mental position; it was simply the inevitable result of her circumstances, her lot and her own temperament. Captain Bodine was a proud man, as proud toward himself as toward others. The cause for which he and his kindred had suffered and lost so much had been sacred, and therefore it ever would be sacred. To change his views, to begin revising his opinions, would be to stultify himself and to reflect dishonor on his comrades in arms who had perished. In the very depths of his young, ardent spirit he had once devoted himself to the South; he had listened reverently to prayers from the pulpit that God would bless the Southern armies; he had never entered into battle without petitions to Heaven, not that he might escape, but that the "Northern invader" might be overcome; his uniform had been stained with blood again and again as he held dying comrades in his arms and spoke words of cheer. In his more limited way, he had the spirit of "Stonewall" Jackson. It was impossible for a man with his nature and with his memories to argue the whole matter over coolly and recognize misleading errors. During his youth and early manhood his feelings had been so intense as to be volcanic, and that feeling, like lava, had cooled of into its present unchangeable forms and sombre hues. What was bitterness and almost spite in Mrs. Hunter was a deep, abiding sorrow in his heart, a great dream unfulfilled, a cause lofty because so idealized, in support of which he often saw in fancy, when alone, spectral thousands in gray, marching as he once had seen them in actual life. That all had been in vain, was to him one of those mysterious providences to which he could only bow his head in mournful resignation, in patient endurance. He had no hate for the North, for he was broad enough in mind to recognize that it saw the question from its own point of view, and, as a soldier, he knew that its men had fought gallantly. But the North's side of the question was not his side. He had been conquered in arms but not convinced in spirit. While he had respect and even admiration for many of his old foes, and malice toward none, he still felt that there was a bridgeless chasm between them, and, by the instincts of his nature, he kept himself aloof. If he could perform an act of kindness to a Northerner he would do so unhesitatingly; then he would turn away with the impulse of an alien. He had no ambitious schemes or hopes for the future; he had buried the "lost cause" as he had buried his wife, with a grief that was too deep for tears. He had come to value life only for Ella's sake, and he tried to do his best from a soldier-like and Christian sense of duty, until he too could join his old comrade in arms.

Mrs. Hunter could not comprehend such a man, and he gave to her but the casual, respectful sympathy which he thought due to a gentlewoman who had lost much like so many other thousands in the South. After a brief call he hobbled away on his crutches, forgetting Mrs. Hunter and, indeed, almost everything in the deep interest excited by Mara, the daughter of his old friend. "Would to God," he muttered, "that Sidney Wallingford could have lived and seen that girl look at him as she looked at me to-day."

Soon after Captain Bodine's departure, Mara pleaded fatigue and retired to her room, promising to answer her aunt's many questions on the morrow. She was very sad and discouraged with herself, and yet she had not the despairing sense of the utter futility of her life which had oppressed her when she started out in the early afternoon.