Elizabeth's eyes darkened. She smiled and nodded her head slightly, as if to say, "I knew you would do it." But after this the trace of a smile lurked for a moment in the corners of her mouth, as if she might have added: "I know, too, what it has cost you." But she said nothing at all to Archdale. She bade good-by to Colonel Vaughan who protested that he wished he was not upon duty, and turned again toward the hospital. Suddenly Archdale thought that she might have been asking the same thing of Edmonson when she had been talking with him just before. If she had, it was very certain that Edmonson had found an engagement immediately. Upon the whole, Archdale was satisfied to have done what the other would not do. So that it was just as well he did not know that that other had not been asked.
Was there ever another woman in the world like this one, he asked himself late that night, recalling that she had been for hours beside him, treating him just as if he were a crook to raise a soldier's head, if she wanted to rearrange his pillow, or a machine to reel off bandages round that poor Melvin's shattered arm, or to do any other trying service, and never even imagine that he would like to be thanked or treated humanely, while every look and word and thought of hers was for the soldiers. It was so different from what he had always found, and yet there was the nobleness of self-forgetfulness in the difference. But for all this vivid memory of those hours, it was imagination rather than recollection that occupied him most with her when she had left him. For he was picturing how she would look, and what she would say, when she read the letter that he had slipped into her hand as she was going away. He recalled her look of amazement, her beginning:—"Why, it's—" and then breaking off abruptly, perceiving that only peculiar circumstances could have made him give her Katie's letter to read, and perhaps divining the truth. For she had suddenly became very grave and had replied absently to his good-night, as on her father's she had turned from the hospital. The young man, wondering how she would receive the news of Katie's treachery, asked himself what she could find now in excuse for the girl who had used her faithful friend as the unconscious messenger of her broken plight? Stephen knew well enough that the old glamour would come back, but to-night he was full only of indignation against Katie. To have used Elizabeth as she had done was an added sin.
"I wish Bulchester joy of her," he muttered, then with a sharp breath recollected that this was only a respite, that he should not always feel too scornful for pain.
Three nights after this there was a silent and solemn procession down to the shore. Island Battery was to be attacked. Here was Archdale's forlorn hope ready for him, if he wanted it now. Every chance of success depended upon secrecy. The venture was so desperate that the General could not make up his mind to pick out the men himself, he called for volunteers. They came forward readily, incited, not only by courage and the desire to end the siege, but by ambition to be distinguished among their comrades who stood about them in hushed expectation. Every soldier off duty and able to crawl to the shore, and some who should not have attempted it were there. Among this crowd stood two women, scarcely apart from the others, and yet everywhere that they moved, given place to with the unobtrusive courtesy that has always marked American men, so that one woman in a host of them feels herself, should danger come, in an army of protectors, and otherwise alone. Elizabeth had meant to be here earlier, and to put herself by the General's side, for her father had gone with dispatches to the fleet, but her duties had detained her, and now she was separated from him by nearly a regiment. She stood silent in an anxiety that did not lessen because she told herself that it was foolish.
Captain Brooks was to command the expedition, and the number of men needed to accompany him was fast being made up from the eager volunteers. In the dimness she recognized Archdale by an unconscious haughtiness of bearing, and Edmonson's voice, though lowered to suit the demands of the hour, made her shiver. Yet why? Of course they both were here; volunteers were stepping out from the ranks of their companies. But they themselves were not going, neither would they be left here alone together. Boat after boat with scaling ladders was filled with soldiers and shoved off, some of them out of sight in the dimness where the men, lying on their oars, waited for their comrades. In this way one after another disappeared. Things went on well. Elizabeth began to be reassured, to be occupied with the scene about her, to remember the importance of the expedition and how many times it had been unsuccessfully attempted. She began to think of the attack, of the result, and of the soldiers, to rejoice in them, to be proud of them, and to tremble for them, as one who has no individual interest at stake.
It was only at night that the attempt could be made, only in certain states of the tide, and still at the best time it was a terrible venture; the work was new for the troops; the walls were high, the enemy was vigilant. With a sigh she saw another boat shove off to its fate.
The volunteering slackened, either because so many of the men left were aware that fatigue and illness had undermined their strength, or because the night had grown lowering and the ominous roar of breakers reached them from their landing place. Finally a distinct pause came in answer to the call: "Who next?"—a pause that lasted a minute, and that, had it lasted another, would have meant discouragement, and perhaps despair.
"I," said a firm voice, and Elizabeth saw Stephen Archdale step into the boat. A strange feeling came over her for a moment, then a wave of admiration for his heroism. If he were to die, it would be a soldier's death. Yet, there would be so many to mourn him. If he went to his death in this way, how would Katie feel? General Pepperell started forward, as if to prevent his embarking, then restrained himself. The men responded rapidly after this example, until the boat needed only one more. Then there fell upon Elizabeth's ears, a name more frightful to her than the boom of the surf or the roar of cannon, and Edmonson stepped in and seated himself opposite Archdale.
"Two captains in one boat!" she heard a soldier remonstrate.
"Nonsense! we're full. Shove off instantly, you laggards. Every minute tells," said the newcomer in a hoarse undertone.