“There,” said Blair, triumphantly to Steve.
“It’s a stock phrase,” said Steve. “And what I’d like to know is, did not Adam tell the truth?”
“Yes, the coward! he did. And I’ve no doubt he tried to keep poor Eve between him and the angel’s sword. Now you, at least be as brave as he, and tell Cousin Thomasia the truth and see what she says.”
Once more Steve began to signal Blair. But Miss Thomasia herself came to his rescue. Perhaps, she wanted to save him. She began to ask about Rupert. She was evidently anxious about the boy.
Whether it was because of what Blair said about Rupert, or because of the look of distress that came in Miss Thomasia’s eyes at the mention of the story of Steve’s playing, Steve had an interview with Captain Middleton shortly afterward, and, as a result, when he told him the dilemma in which he found himself, the horse went back into Middleton’s possession, until Middleton left the county, when he became Steve’s by purchase.
As time went on, a shadow began to fall between Jacquelin and the sun. Steve was in love with Blair. Steve was always with her; his name was always on her lips, and hers frequently on his. She rode his horse: and he often came to Red Rock with her. And as Jacquelin watched, he knew he had no chance. It cut deeper than anyone ever knew; but Jacquelin fought it out and won. He would not let it come between him and Steve. Steve had always been like a brother. He would still love Blair. This was not forbidden him. Not every knight always won his great love. It was the loyalty, not the success, that was knightly. If she loved Steve, he could make her happier than Jacquelin himself ever could have done. And Jacquelin, if God gave him power, would rejoice with them in time.
The preparations for the contemplated entertainment for the benefit of the poor wounded Confederate soldiers in the county were already begun. It was to be given at Red Rock, and the managers waited only for Jacquelin to recover somewhat from a set-back he had had after his meeting with Leech at Dr. Cary’s. Blair Cary had offers from at least a dozen escorts; but Steve was the fortunate contestant. Miss Dockett was so much interested in her preparations that the two lodgers caught the fever, and found themselves in the position of admirers and part advisers as to a costume for an entertainment to which they were not considered good enough to be invited. Little Thurston had to purchase a part of it in the city, where he went on a visit, and, truth to tell, finding that the small amount entrusted to him—which was all that could be got together even by Mrs. Dockett’s diligence, stimulated by her natural pride in her daughter’s first ball—was not sufficient to purchase material as fine as he thought suited to adorn the plump person of a young lady who had condescended to warble with him, he added to it a small sum from his own by no means over-plethoric pocket, and then lied about it afterward like a trooper and a gentleman.
“Well, I always heard a Yankee was a good hand at a bargain,” declared Mrs. Dockett; “but you are the best I ever knew.” And this was Thurston’s reward.
The officers had given up hope of being invited to the assembly, when one evening two formal notes, requesting their company, were brought by Steve’s boy Jerry. They were signed simply, “The Committee.”
“And now,” said Middleton, “we’re in a bigger hole than before; for it’s for the benefit of the rebels; and if that gets out—. But, perhaps it will not?”