“No, I don’t think it was at all strange. You may depend upon it, the Federals know all they want to know from the negroes.”
“Do you mean to say that these servants of ours, who are our very own, are betraying us?”
“Oh, no, that is not the word to use. They wouldn’t betray Richard, but they wouldn’t mind giving a tip about Isabey or Colonel Gratiot. None of you Southern people seems to realize what a stupendous stake the negroes have in this conflict.”
“I realize it,” answered Angela, “when we have to depend upon Uncle Hector and Aunt Tulip and half a dozen half-grown black boys and girls to do the work of this house, and you are put to the churn.” Then, suddenly becoming conscious of her unbound hair, she seized it in both hands and with rapid and graceful dexterity wound the shining coils around her head, and fled up the dark stairway.
CHAPTER XX
A SOLDIER’S ERRAND
THE capture of Colonel Gratiot, following upon Isabey’s narrow escape, made an immense stir in the county. There had been other descents by night and day upon places, and a few Confederate private soldiers had been picked up, but there had been nothing like the concerted design which had resulted in the capture of officers.
From a little spark of suspicion grew a great flame of accusation against Angela. The minds of men and women were so unbalanced, so tortured, so driven hither by calamity, that anything could be believed of anyone.
The greatest braggart in the county had died like a hero, cheering on his men; the softest spoken university-bred men had become hard swearers and iron disciplinarians; the most shiftless of idlers had made admirable soldiers; and all seemed to go according to the law of contrary.
Angela herself was quite unconscious of the storm which raged against her in the county. She kept close to Harrowby and saw no one, even rarely George Charteris, who still came daily to study under Lyddon. Heretofore George had been content to pass Angela with a cold and negligent bow, after having for years before pestered her with his boyish lovemaking. Now he avoided as far as possible meeting her on his daily visits to Harrowby. But once, when it was inevitable, he passed her on the lawn without removing his hat. Angela stopped and looked after him with blazing eyes of wrath. Was it possible that this boy dared to insult her by not speaking to her?
She said nothing of this, keeping it with many other bitter things in her own heart. But the next day when George came out of the study door Angela faced him in the path. He was forced to make her something in the nature of a bow and, after an unpleasant pause, said: “Do you wish anything of me?”