What could this girl know of the passion of mother love which consumed the older woman’s heart? What could she know of the yearning for that secretly favored child, that son who in her heart she preferred to everything on earth, even to Colonel Tremaine, while she said to herself, to Colonel Tremaine, and to all the world, and even to her God upon her knees, that Colonel Tremaine was the first object of her existence, knowing all the while that this was a pious lie, and that Neville Tremaine was the idol of her heart, and had ever been and would always be first. It seemed to her a hidden insult that Angela should be willing to divide her money, but jealously withheld the letter which Mrs. Tremaine fancied she had received.
The same thought entered Angela’s mind, and, less ungenerous, she said quickly: “I have had this money some time, and I have had no letter from Neville of which I haven’t told you, Aunt Sophia.”
And then Mrs. Tremaine, understanding Angela as women understand these subtle conflicts between each other, felt that Angela had, indeed, been generous, and it was time for her to show some generosity.
“Thank you, my dear,” she said. “Since you are kind enough to offer us a part of your money, I shall be much obliged. I will accept it with pleasure.”
CHAPTER XII
THE IRON HAND OF WAR AND CIRCUMSTANCE
TWO hours afterwards, the great coach with the big, long-tailed bay horses, was on its way to Captain Ross’s house.
Within the coach sat Mrs. Tremaine and Madame Isabey. Captain Ross’s house, a small frame building painted a staring white, was only a couple of miles away. Already the news of his successful blockade-running had got abroad, and the space under the trees was filled with all sorts of vehicles carrying all sorts of people from Mrs. Tremaine in her coach and pair down to a ramshackle Jersey wagon drawn by a decrepit mule.
Half the women of the neighborhood were there, and all intent on buying. The merchandise was piled up in the front room of the house, known as the “settin’ room,” where Captain Ross’s business manager, Didlake, presided over the sales. Nothing was sold by the yard or the pound; the ladies were too eager for that, and bought whole packages at once. Some of them had gold, but all of them had Confederate or Virginia State money, which they offered to Didlake, but which was in every case civilly but firmly refused.
Then came a torrent of invective against his want of patriotism in declining Confederate money, and demands to see Captain Ross.
This request Didlake, who was suavity itself, politely evaded. “He’s asleep, ladies. He tumbled over like a log as soon as the anchor kissed the mud this morning and he got ashore, and I ain’t got the heart to wake him up. There never was a time from Sunday night, when we slipped out of Baltimore, until this morning, when we got into Mobjack Bay, that we wasn’t in sight of a Yankee vessel. They didn’t see us because we was painted the right color, but we seen them, and I tell you it wan’t no time for the capt’n to be sleeping. I give out myself last night and had a good night’s rest, but this is the first time Capt’n Ross has shet his eyes even to wink, since Sunday night.”