I could not distinguish a feature of her averted face, but a vagrant breath of air blew a strand of soft hair against my cheek. Could I sacrifice her, even for such a cause? Suddenly, as if it were the whisper of the devil in my ear, came the controlling thought—she despises the man Dunn; she is being driven into this marriage against her will; possibly this very fraud on my part will best serve her, will eventually result in her final happiness. We would be together merely for an hour, or two hours; then she would be left safe in the care of friends, comprehending the deceit, angry with me, no doubt, yet nothing the worse for the adventure. It might even be that the marriage contracted under such peculiar circumstances would not be held as legal, while if it was, a divorce could be most easily obtained, on the ground of fraud, and it would remain in her memory afterwards merely as an unpleasant episode. What it might prove to me, I neither considered nor cared.
"You will join right hands."
How soft and small her hand was, how cold to the touch, and how it trembled beneath the clasp of my fingers! I can scarcely recall a word spoken; they came to me in the vaguest mumble of sound, conveying not the slightest meaning. I could see the broad shoulders of the Chaplain as he stood directly in front of us, his back to the steps; behind him appeared the dim outlines of the Colonel and Master George; I did not really perceive the girl at all, merely felt her cold hand lying unresponsive within mine. Once the drawling voice appeared to ask me something, repeating the question somewhat sharply before I could force my dry lips into the few necessary words of response. Then I heard her distinctly say, "I do," yet with an effort, as though the utterance nearly choked her. The very sound of these two words, as she thus spoke them filled with utter hopelessness, shocked me even then, and I loosened my clasp, permitting her hand to drop, as I stared toward her. The hot blood rushed to my head, every nerve tingling. Damned if I would be guilty of this cowardly thing! I would fight them all first!
"And now I pronounce you husband and wife; whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder."
It was already too late! Too late! The evil was done, the act consummated. In darkness, in masquerade, pretending to be another, I stood there and married Jean Denslow. I was actually guilty of this low, despicable fraud on a woman; I had connived at this ungentlemanly act; I had permitted myself to sink to this unspeakable meanness. I do not comprehend now how I ever held my peace; how I met the outstretched hands of congratulation, what inane words I mumbled in reply. I was conscious merely of regret, humiliation, intense shame. She never came near me, never once spoke, but I heard her sob chokingly as she hid her face on her father's shoulder. Slowly the life came creeping back to me, and with it the realization of our position, a dim comprehension that the cowardly game must now be played out to the end. However inexcusable the fraud, it must now be turned to good account; results must in some measure justify the deceit. I gripped my hands on the chair-back, compelling myself to attend to what was going on about me. George had disappeared but I could hear the sound of horses being led forward over the grass below.
"Well, good-bye, little girl." It was the Colonel's voice. "The ride is n't a long one, and you can scarcely understand how greatly it will relieve me to know that you are safe in the care of friends."
"I say, Calvert, there does n't seem to be anything the matter with your horse," suddenly sang out the boy from below. "He'll carry you all right. What's keeping you and Jean? Don't you know we've got to get out of here?"
"Yes, come, Calvert," and the unsuspecting old Colonel grasped my arm. "Jean is waiting, and we must all of us be off."
It was accomplished mechanically, yet I remember assisting the girl into the saddle, slipping her little foot into the stirrup, my heart beating fast as I touched the arched instep, and felt her slight weight rest for an instant on my shoulder. All at once I apprehended the sweet charm of her young womanhood, coupled with an odd feeling of personal interest. My God! it was a strange situation! I had never even spoken to her; she had never once spoken to me—yet she was my wife. Some way the thought thrilled me as if I had received an electric shock. Jean Denslow was already actually mine; I could claim her by law; she bore my name—why, she did n't even know what my name was! The sense of humiliation seemed to leave me at the thought, and I even smiled at the humor of it as I swung up into my own saddle. Humor? oh, yes! But it would certainly prove no matter tor laughter when she once discovered the truth.
I recall the warm hand-clasps, the cheery words of good-bye, the hearty congratulations, to which we both remained strangely dumb, the several figures standing clustered at our horses' heads; then we rode forth alone, and, knowing nothing as to the direction in which Fairview lay, I permitted the lady's horse to take the lead slightly To my immense relief she drew rein sharply to the right, and we headed eastward. Unacquainted with the nature of the road we travelled, I hesitated to speed the horses anxious though I was to be well advanced before daylight, but she as instantly decided the matter by touching her mount with a light riding-whip, the gray mare under her breaking into a smart canter. Immediately I ranged up at her side, my heavier roan easily keeping the pace, as I permitted him to pick his own way. It was like riding blindfolded, so black was all ahead, with what appeared to be thick forest on either side; yet the road was evidently a well-travelled one, and our horses very seldom made a misstep. Once her high-spirited mare shied violently, so that I reached out, and hastily grasped her rein, but, so far as I could perceive, the slender figure scarcely swayed in the saddle, and her lips uttered no sound. At a steady stride we rode onward through the gloom in silence, an embarrassing constraint upon us both I could realize plainly enough those emotions which were swaying her, but she little comprehended the thoughts of the man at her side. Again and again I glanced toward her, my lips opening for speech, yet unable to utter the first syllable. I had in my heart the fear of a coward; I dreaded to confess the truth, and face her just indignation. Yet I was inevitably driven to it; there was nothing else for me to do, unless I should suddenly rein back my horse, ride swiftly away in the darkness, leaving her alone and undefended. That would be the act of a cur; it would insure me her hatred forever, and, deep down in my heart, I was already beginning to desire the future goodwill of this girl. I wanted her to respect my motives, to understand what it was which had driven me into such an act of deceit. Not even justified in my own mind, I yet dreamed I might possibly justify myself in some small degree before her. Once, as if the constrained silence had become unbearable, she ventured a common-place remark upon the black stillness of the night, to which I must have replied stiffly enough, for both immediately relapsed into silence; the only sound was made by our horses' hoofs, now pounding along a road grown hard and rocky as we steadily rose into higher altitudes. In the narrow bed of a stream we drew rein to permit the animals to drink thirstily. Feeling that I must now know something more definite as to this country we traversed, I began doubtfully to probe after the information.
"I rather expected to encounter pickets along the road," I began, staring about into the night. "Have they been withdrawn?"
I imagined she glanced toward me as if in surprise at my words, or rendered suspicious by the sound of my voice.
"All pickets in this direction were recalled last night, when General Huston returned to his brigade," she replied indifferently.
"Then we are already between the lines?"
"Neither army has ever been east, on this slope of the mountains, so far as I know. Two weeks ago Joe drove me over to Coulter's Landing after some supplies for the house, and the country at that time appeared to have been untouched even by foraging parties. I have heard of no movements in this direction since then."
"Haven't I heard there was a ford at Coulter's?"
"Just below the landing, yes; but it is narrow, and never safe when the water is at all high. Why, we crossed it together only last Summer on our way to Franklyn."
"To be sure; so we did. I have passed through so much since then that I have grown forgetful."
